Fallout: The Lion and the River
by MasterOfEscapism
Summary: Maybe now we can get to know each other better, she said. He took her up on her offer but did they pick the wrong time to plant their romance? Will it survive the brutality of the Capital Wasteland or will it wither? Rated M for violence and sexual activity, each in descriptive doses.
1. Chapter 1

The ruins of the Pentagon, otherwise the main base of the Brotherhood of Steel, is perhaps the most secure location in the Capital Wasteland. It is surrounded by tall walls of metal all around that are less than pristine, but nevertheless resilient, with armored soldiers protecting them from elevated positions. These men and women wear protective gear reminiscent of knight's armor during medieval periods in that it encases them entirely in steel shells. Its styling is much different but the most important principles are shared.

Power armor, as it is called, is a bulky metal suit with a foggy gray finish that helps it avoid reflecting light. Plated pieces protect the extremities, such as the entire torso, the legs, thighs, arms, forearms, pelvis, and even the shoulders. The joints, as in medieval times, are the weakness of the suits but not as much of one now as back then. Those areas are protected by flexible metallic mesh capable of deflecting most projectiles or entangling the ones powerful enough to penetrate.

In earlier times wearing such thoroughly protective armor was impossible due to the weight but it was only ever created once that obstacle was overcome beforehand. Aside from protecting the wearer, power armor also moves _itself,_ removing all complications arising from sheer weight. Electronic motors and hydraulics answer to a neural interface wired into the suit, allowing the soldier to move it more through conscience than physical exertion. It even gifts them with mechanical strength beyond that of any normal human being.

With power armor on, a woman is a strong as a man wearing the same outfit, and these are the individuals who protect the Citadel, built atop the ruins of the Pentagon. Regardless of that and those stubborn walls refusing to let anything in that the Brotherhood doesn't invite, looking at it from outside this whole place nevertheless fails to distinguish itself from the decrepit surroundings of its post-apocalyptic environment. Rust runs rampant here all the same.

Beyond the outer walls and deeper in the cocoon is another story. The Citadel not only houses some of the more well-equipped warriors of this worldwide wasteland, but it also houses an all too rare idealism; the protection of those _outside_ as well as those within. In the courtyard, a drill sergeant scolds initiates, which are what entry level acquisitions are called, commanding them to push their bodies, minds and skills to the limit for the purpose of furthering the lofty goals of the Brotherhood of Steel.

While this form of thinking is a marvelous innovation in and of itself in these post-apocalyptic wastes, deeper still into the Citadel are other forms of developments, these more scientific. Scribes, members of the Brotherhood's equivalent of a research and developments department, work day and night to improve upon their technology so that they may serve their purpose more efficiently. They tweak laser rifles, deadly weapons that vanquish flesh with the power of light as opposed to bullets, so that they may better serve their wielders.

It is within these walls where one particular woman resides, seated on a chair that can withstand her weight even while wearing power armor. She has one of those very laser rifles settled horizontally across her lap, and she cares for it with the same love a rock climber cares for climbing gear. Her eyes seek to penetrate the sleek, baby gray shell of her weapon, never quite giving hints as to the real whereabouts of her thoughts.

As she surveys her weapon for faults, examining its condition, Sarah Lyons finds herself thinking more about a recent visitor. The Capital Wasteland called him the Lone Wanderer, but she remembered him more as _River_ or by the moniker he used the first time they crossed paths, _Branchtender Osage._ Every time she thought back that far, it was difficult not to grin.

He came off as some religious coot, brain banged up too much by the wasteland to function properly. And then . . . then the title suited him. The hood he wore enshrouded his facial features so that when people laid eyes on his stark red hair and bright green eyes, it felt like a restricted privilege, his shadowy nature well served by the notion.

The brown vest with dry branches protruding from its surface had a close fit on him, and it smelled earthy, like mud. It was more than enough to single him out as . . . _some dingy wastelander,_ as she recalled, but then her eyes caught up to the openings on each side of the garb and his toned arms, bare to the pale moonlight that day. There was musculature there and not the type you see being typical to waste landers who travel enough. No, his physical condition was deliberate, something ascertained to her the day he came by the Citadel once and politely requested Paladin Gunny put him through basic despite already being a Knight.

After that, she noticed that he was also wearing combat armor leggings. Suddenly, he had her wondering. What was he?

These days, most of the things she knew about him were learned from Three Dog's broadcast or from conversations other Brotherhood members had with him and subsequently shared with her. Branchtender Osage was apparently a title he earned from a group of people who called themselves the _Treeminders._ His leather garb, stuck with dry branches, had been dragged through mud to conceal his scent from Yao Guai and Deathclaws, furious beasts with keen olfactory glands. He was from Vault 101.

A little while in and all of those facts stopped being so intriguing. They no longer corralled her mind and held it captive for hours on end. Thinking about it long enough gradually revealed that it was because she wanted to hear it all from him, which frustrated her because she had already invited him into her personal space, pointing out that perhaps they can get to know each other better in the future. He never took her up on that offer.

Now, her pride would not allow her to suffer the indignity of making the first _and_ second move. Being in the military and receiving awards for her efforts left her with a strong give and take outlook on life. It made her protective, or perhaps a little reverent, of her efforts regarding friendships and . . . love interests. Drawing in a deep breath and releasing it, her mind clicked like a piece of machine work in her power armor. She resolved not to pursue it any further. River would not exist in her mental plane unless he was within the periphery of her eyes, where attention was simply necessary and nothing more.

For her, such a thing was very easy to accomplish. Her discipline made it possible, and as if to punctuate her new objective, she turned her full attention to the laser rifle and slapped a microfusion cell firmly into place before hefting it to her chest and standing up. The door opened just as she turned to it and stopped completely when River walked through it, his placid green eyes searching out her blues. She must have only spent a single second mulling over the irritating coincidence of this circumstance but when she answered, she had returned to her position, insistent on treating him with the same listlessness he seemed to treat her with.

"River," she uttered, watching him step in after offering up a nod that was more dutiful than friendly. About twenty seconds ago she may have allowed herself to mind his movements, the way she always did before her newly employed state of mind. They were slow but not lazy. Relaxed would be the word, but so much so that it was an absolute shock whenever he switched gears and _moved_ like she knew he could. He was like the wind. Or . . . like water, or even a laser fired from her rifle. Otherwise, during times of peace, he moved like a sloth.

The moment River heard her greeting he could see that there was something different about it. It was times like these when his gradual nature helped him most. The fact that he took a few moments to respond appeared typical of him when in all actuality, it provided him with ample time to think about the interaction and respond accordingly. He settled for a small forward tilt of his head and a delicate little smile to greet her in return. After that, he leaned up against a wall and spoke, "Hadn't seen you since I've been here."

Sarah didn't know, but her interest in River was mutual. He often considered her personality and her circumstances in comparison to the other women he met on his travels. It was so different. In some ways, she was more the face of the Brotherhood than Elder Lyons, the man in charge, and River speculated the aging leader wanted it that way. He sometimes wondered if Sarah ever thought about that, or if she ever went as far as to consider the possibility that she was being groomed for eldership herself.

As far as River was concerned, there was nothing but _promise_ in that prospect. Sarah had a strong, moral father offering guidance every step of the way and was a powerful person in her own right. Still, despite the many things he observed with his own eyes or the things he heard from his surroundings, he was aware that there were a thousand things that he would never know unless he asked. The only thing that kept him at bay before was, quite ironically, her father.

For Sarah, River's soft smile was a discombobulating notion. She noted friendliness in it but before she had too much time to mull it over, she answered, "Well you always sleep during the day." The second those words finished coming out, she almost winced, disdainful towards the fact that she knew quite a few things about him. Right now, the last thing she wanted him to know was that she paid attention to his habits.

In response, River nodded and a slow hand reached for the back of his head, where his fingers scratched, "Yeah . . . " he said breathily, "you're right, actually." Bringing his hand back down from his head, he shrugged his shoulders and spoke again, "I was wondering if we could sit down for a while somewhere and have a talk. You and I accomplished a lot together. It feels wrong not to _know_ you."

"Sure," Sarah answered, her tone low and bereft of all forms of anxiety. "Where should we meet?" she followed up.

River found it odd that she asked where. When he approached, he figured wherever they're standing when he found her would be a good place to sit and talk. The question evoked an instinct that perhaps should have been buried by the post-apocalyptic world, one that warned him with distant whispers that despite Sarah's metal suit, the deadly laser rifle and her sharp attention, she was still very much a woman inside and the thought of being taken out somewhere appealed to her psychology.

"It just gets a little cramped in here."

He wasn't sure if she caught on to the fact that she had subconsciously overcomplicated their situation but before she could say anything else, he answered, "The roof overlooking Arlington Library. Less super mutant activity lately. Ten minutes?"

Sarah responded with a firm nod and River turned, moving towards the door while she moved her attention elsewhere, his image already burned deep into her mind. He was wearing something that looked comfortable. Firstly, a dusty sleeveless white shirt and secondly, a pair of black cotton shorts that stopped just slightly above his knee. His footwear was minimalist, something he picked up somewhere on the citadel, no doubt; a pair of black flip flops.

* * *

When Sarah approached, she caught view of River in the short distance sitting on the very edge of the roof overlooking Arlington Library. From where she was and because of the angled shine provided by the moon, she could see that his hair was a little longer than she remembered. The front and the top had always been a little bulky but the back was usually short, if she recalled.

Once she was close enough and River could hear her approach, he noticed something out of place. Those steps didn't belong to a soldier in power armor or in recon armor, so he turned to take a glance and encountered an image of such interest that his pupils dilated. Sarah was wearing a pair of shorts small enough to grant him view of her smooth, shapely legs. She likely didn't shave but the tiny vellum hairs were otherwise unnoticeable.

A black cotton t shirt and a pair of flip flops rounded out her outfit and she took a seat about two feet beside him. Her legs crossed before her and her open hands settled atop her knees while River watched her, his eyes stealthily surveying her legs, noting that this was the first time he had ever seen Sentinel Lyons wearing something so comfortable. Witnessing the sheer beauty of her physical femininity for the first time struck him over the head like a super sledge, a high tech sledgehammer that amplifies the kinetic energy of a swing to the point of irreversible devastation.

A Brotherhood Paladin in the distance gave them a cursory glance and returned his attention to the wasteland beyond the walls of the Citadel, watching for movement.

"Wearing the helmet for the recon armor's going to get uncomfortable with that long hair," she uttered. She remembered the day he offered River a position in the Lyons Pride, watching him take the recon armor instead of the powered one.

The small talk served to break the ice, causing him to reach up to his head, tugging at the hair that had indeed grown longer in the back and on the sides. With a tilt of his neck and a side glance in her direction, he concurred with a nod, "Yeah, going to have to cut it soon." The motion of his eyes moving back out to Arlington Library carried his vision past her toes; pretty things, even with no nail polish.

"I've been meaning to ask," he began, bringing his legs up from the edge of the building and crossing them in the same manner as she. Meanwhile, her attention gathered at his eyes, waiting for him to continue.

"The Brotherhood's campaign here in the Capital has been brutal. It would have been less so if Elder Lyons shared McGraw's point of view. Ever wonder if maybe the Outcasts are right?"

Sarah's answer came to him in hesitation, something River didn't fail to notice. Truth be told, he found a good measure of satisfaction in that. For a moment or two, he was expecting her to point out her loyalty to the Brotherhood and her father as the main determining factors for taking his side in that conflict but found that there was more nuance in her opinion. She was a soldier in the field and had watched her fair share of death. Many of her comrades wouldn't have suffered such terrible fates if her father was more like the leader of the Outcasts, whose sole interest was in technology, not the preservation of the people.

"I did wonder, yes," she admitted, "Until we brought the Purifier online. After that, there's been no room left for doubt. We've done a lot of good for the Capital and it feels good to see it start paying off."

There was a pause during which River acknowledged her and she assessed herself more thoroughly. It wasn't for a while until she wondered why he would ask her such a thing. "Why?" she asked immediately, turning to him.

"Well . . . " River answered, his eyes floating skyward to the clear skies, shifting in his seat before continuing, "Has there even been a female Elder in the history of the Brotherhood?"

That question rocked Sarah's mentality the same way her physical beauty struck River's moments earlier, so much so that there was a tickling sensation in the very center of her chest. Bringing up the topic was actually quite startling. She didn't respond until she knew that there was nothing to say other than what she speculated.

"No . . . but . . . "

This was when she captivated him. That her answer wasn't a simple _no_ , that she had more to say after that, made it clear that this wasn't a foreign topic for her. She had thought about it before, perhaps even fantasized. However, this _may_ have been the first time this idea had ever come up in conversation with anyone other than herself.

"I don't see that being a problem. Women get equal treatment in the Brotherhood."

Sarah's answer, River thought, could be believed to be an indicator of her desire to obtain eldership one day. The prospect pleased him, and gave her, in his eyes, an external beauty beyond that of her flesh. Any person, man or woman, had to be _strong_ to strive for such goals, and that strength was ultimately what evoked him most about her.

"Father's in charge now."

River again acknowledged with a nod, but added, "And when he's not, you'll be around to pick up the mantle."

She took a deep breath and released it, this time reaching for the arches of her feet, grasping them tightly with her legs still crossed.

"That is if he doesn't vacate the position to you before he passes."

All these years working alongside a squad of friends and never once had one of them brought up the prospect of her Eldership. Thinking about it now, it made sense. Each member of the Lyons pride was there because each of them ascended beyond the limits of their peers, making each and every one of them formidable in their own respect. She wouldn't put it past them to desire Eldership themselves. River, on the other hand, wasn't lifelong Brotherhood, so it was easy for him to evoke this conversation.

"So," she said, with an almost distant tone, "Father vacates his position, I become Elder . . . where would _you_ be?"

For River, the answer was simple, "Behind you."

His answer caused her heart to flutter in a way it never had. His voice was low, raspy and almost delicate, yet it didn't fail in making her, for once, feel as if she was cradled in a strong pair of arms that would protect her from anything that wished her harm. Granted, she didn't need such care, but it was nice to have it. She looked to him slowly and carefully, and he returned the glance. Images of her past flames flashed before her eyes, noticing the differences between what she felt then and what she felt now.

She balled it all up and set it on fire by flashing him a devious grin, "I would send you on the most _dangerous_ missions ever, even by _your_ standards. You have no idea what you're getting yourself into . . . "

River watched her with his eyebrows slowly rising, and she topped off her wicked retort in a mocking tone, "Mr. _Branctender Osage._ "

He began to smile again, surprised and delighted with her humor, and his laughter only grew more unabashed as she continued.

"Rothchild wants a live Deathclaw? Deploy Knight Osage. A behemoth's tearing up DC with a giant chainsaw? Well, what are we waiting for? Get Osage on the job!"

River's eyebrows contorted nervously, his shoulders still bouncing softly because of the laughter, "Well . . . I guess I'll be done for. Can't you take it easy on me? I've been through a lot," he stressed with feigned, but convincing, sincerity.

"Oh no," Sarah refused, shaking her head, "I'm going to work you harder than any Brotherhood soldier ever."

River glanced at her then, the smile disappearing in exchange for a softer expression. She was still smiling when she caught him staring in her periphery, prompting her to look back at him in time to catch his . . . entranced look. With her ears and cheeks growing hot after realizing that her words could be misconstrued as a double entendre, she sped up again, yanking her eyes away from him to escape as quickly as she could, "So, what was it like in the vault?"

She cleared her throat and rubbed her calves as if searching for bumps or other imperfections, waiting for him to respond. River, meanwhile, closed his eyes very slowly and by the time they opened, he was looking far ahead into the wasteland again.

"It was simpler."

His tone was melancholy, as if longing for those simpler times, enough to make her smile fade.

" _Everything_ was simpler there. Food . . . _water_. . . friendships . . . the list goes on."

"How were friendships any simpler?"

River's eyes angled downward, taking all the time he thought was necessary to build a response he believed was well constructed. "Out here, most people only develop friendships that are beneficial. Friendships that strengthen survival. In the vault, people developed friendships through . . . compatibility, I suppose you can say? If we both liked Police Stories, we could be friends. Not always the same out here."

Sarah's eyes flickered in thought, but she knew he was right. She even began to understand that the Brotherhood was a lot more like a Vault in that respect than she ever thought. Soldiers here had supplies aplenty and those soldiers and scribes who gravitated towards one another usually did so because of shared interests or compatibility in the battlefield as well as in the mess hall. For wastelanders outside of the Citadel, it was as River pointed out.

"Love was simpler, too."

The same startled ticklish sensation in Sarah's chest returned when he mentioned love. She did briefly wonder about River's love life, imagining that it had to be unlikely that he hadn't already taken advantage of his good looks and his accomplishments to partake in various different women throughout the wasteland.

"How so?" she asked.

"In the vault, your duties . . . _usually_. . . don't take you away from it, so you're never far from her."

Sarah watched him as if she was glancing into a sparkling ocean, searching for what lay at the very bottom. It eventually became clear to her that there had been a woman there for him, one whose absence he still clearly lamented. Swallowing the tough pill, she offered forth a fake platitude, "There was a girl. Well, I'm sure you'll see her again. You'll drop by on your travels eventually, right?"

River smiled, impressed with her perception, "Gee, guess that was mighty transparent of me. But no, I'll never see her again. Don't want to." Though his voice was still delicate, raspy and quiet, she could hear that there was certainty in it, and she, she couldn't help but ask why.

"Why?" she inquired, her forehead angling forward while her head turned to watch him.

"I did go back to the Vault. When I was done there, she told me I needed to leave. She was right, of course. My father and I caused a lot of trouble when we left. People died. For me to be around would be like leaving a piece of shrapnel inside as the wound heals all around. She did what she had to do," he assured, glancing again at Sarah and nodding in approval.

The wind blew and even though it was against her bare skin, Sarah didn't flinch. She found herself wrapped up in his words for quite a while until she heard his voice again, "Buuut . . . it was also fun down there. I was in a baseball team called the Alley Cats; they called me Johnny Slugger."

Sarah's lips widened into a smile then, and she put two and two together. Apparently, he was an athlete when he was younger. That explained why he was so physically adept, why he could swing that lawn mower sword around with such grace and strength.

"MVP of the league and it would have continued for ten years if I hadn't left. Led the little and big leagues in stolen bases since the first year I set foot in the field," he bragged. Sarah only watched him with a smile, her legs shifting in place. Bases weren't the only thing he was good at stealing, she thought, inwardly scolding herself for allowing herself to fall into such thoughts.

The wind blew again and this time, Sarah felt it biting at her skin, causing her to hug herself for warmth. River noticed and moved to stand, "We should get back inside. It's getting cold out."

"Yeah," Sarah concurred, standing up and turning around until the two of them walked side by side back towards the Citadel proper.

"Who cuts hair in the Citadel?"

Sarah paused internally a moment, aware that she could very well cut his hair but unsure if she should make it known. In the end, she was mature enough to recognize the sort of opportunity it provided. Rubbing her hands through his hair, circling around him all the while and standing in front of him periodically with her legs bare for him to see was as seductive a strategy as she could come up with, and it was too tempting to resist.

"I can," she proposed, her ears and cheeks growing hot again now that it looked like she was nearing the point of no return. She was going to seek it now, both because she was experienced enough to know how to obtain romance and because she couldn't fight the temptation anymore.

"You?" River asked, incredulously.

Her eyebrows pulled close, tight, as if his disbelief was unappreciated. She ascertained with a firm _yes,_ and added that she cut Knight Captain Dusk's hair, too.

"Alright then," River responded. This time, she wasn't the only one whose body functions started to palpitate. Where would she cut his hair? If it was somewhere public, he knew it would be a benign endeavor . . . but if she took him into a more private setting, this was bound to be a curious, but exciting, night. The anticipation began to eat him alive.

* * *

Now that Sarah had him seated on a stool in a room that guaranteed nightlong privacy, she began to feel more and more seductive. Over the years, romantic relations of the past had honed her senses in this sort of thing. In her time as an adult, she had bedded two men prior to this day, each of which no longer held her affection. Though she wasn't in any romantic relationship now, she knew her way around them, and she speculated that such might not be the case for him.

The thought of dominating him romantically excited her to powerful extents. Not in a physical sense, but in a cerebral sense. That she had been the one who pulled the strings for him to end up alone in a room with her was a satisfying accomplishment. Thoughts of what might occur next created a voracious sense of anticipation for her as much as it did for River.

As she gathered her supplies, which included a barber comb, a pair of shears, and some cordless clippers that ran on energy cells, she sighed in exasperation, calling his attention to her.

"What's wrong?" he inquired.

"Dusk has the cape in her room. Take off your shirt or you're going to get hair all over it."

Sarah made sure for her tone to sound professional, sort of like when she divvied out orders to her subordinates during a mission. It served its intended purpose because when River glanced at the back of her head, he still doubted if whether this whole setup was what he thought it was. As a result, he removed his shirt and set it aside on a night stand, still in the dark, just the way she wanted him.

She didn't turn until a few moments later, her eyes aligned with her equipment, veiling her interest in what there was under his shirt until she looked and took a deep, long drink of his features. It was sculpted, muscular but not bulging. His pectorals were neatly defined but refrained from protruding very far from his chest. His abdomen was also neatly arranged in three rows of two, with the definition fading ever so slightly closer to the bottom. In tandem with his well-defined arms, his body was a masterpiece. It was enough that when her eyes passed over his pink nipples, her mouth watered and her nether region warmed.

She also noticed scars; jagged, ferocious little things that made her wonder what it was like to see him injured. When he said he had been through a lot, she knew he wasn't lying, but the scope of that was different now that she could see an extensive burn on his back, slits on his torso, and various other injuries that healed but never disappeared entirely. He wouldn't have gotten so banged up if he had worn power armor the whole way.

With River seated, she began by circling over behind him and combing through his hair with the barber's comb and her hands, just as she planned. The feeling of her fingers digging trenches into his locks was euphoric. Here and there his skull tilted in the direction of the brush as she undid tiny knots in his red mane, and continued until the strands were free from each other's grasp.

"I'm guessing you want it trimmed all around but more around the sides than on the top. Like how you had it when we first met."

"Yeah," River answered simply, noting with a good amount of interest that she seemed to remember his hair _exactly_ how it was during their first meeting. Apparently, he left some kind of impression on her that night. Not so surprising.

That settled, she began the real work, her comb scooping up calculated portions of hair before passing the clipper along its length, causing specks of the stuff to come tumbling down. It started on the left side of his head, where she trimmed small layers of his short sideburns off before moving around to the back of his head, where she repeated the process.

He felt her trimmer lightly tugging at the back of his head but what flooded his senses was the way she pressed her body up against his back. With enough speculation he could surmise that her hips were pressing on his lower back and her breasts on his higher upper back.

Sarah's body warmed even further now that she was against his bare skin, teasing the prospect of doing the same but with no clothes of her own. The notion dimmed her eyes, leaving her expression soft and hungry for romance, something he couldn't yet see. She stayed there for a long while until she moved, each of them silent, and she stopped in front of him, this time to begin working on the hair sprouting from his crown.

Here, River had to wrestle with himself not to glance up into her eyes, but found it increasingly difficult when she inched close enough to him that her legs were parted by his folded right knee. Her thighs were bare immediately in front of him, leading down a long smooth expanse that ended with her pretty feet. With her arms raised over his head, her shirt skirted up along her torso, revealing a glimpse of her flat stomach to him.

There was a vacuum between them in term of vocal cues, but her breaths, the movements of her hands and the ways she positioned her body were louder than anything he had ever heard.

It eventually became too one sided for him, the display of her shapely legs and her flat stomach gradually shaving away his patience until his hands raised. Their motions were as if they were formerly of a statue that had to dislodge itself from a permanent pose, but when they found the back of her thighs, where his fingers touched and hooked to reel her towards him, they moved with an appreciable fluidity.

Sarah looked down at him, meeting his eyes halfway with her own before knowingly setting her tools down on a nearby surface. His fingers, now on the back of her thigh and close to grasping a chunk of her rear nearly made her tremble in anticipation. From there, she reveled in her success, and her hands each reached for the sides of his head, cupping his face in her surprisingly soft hold. Gently, she tugged him up as a gesture for him to stand, and watched as his legs unfurled, pushing him to his full height half a head taller than her. She looked up to him and he down to her . . . and their lips, slowly but surely, brushed. Once . . . then twice, then a third time for a lot longer, his arms wrapping around her waist and hers around the back of his neck.

With every additional brush of their lips, their holds tightened even more, passion boiling more wildly with every passing second. Sarah pulled herself onto him as if she intended for their bodies to merge and River's acted with more adventure, his hands sliding beneath her shirt and onto the smooth skin on her back. First he felt the tantalizing warmth of her body, second the spine in the center of her back, and then the smoothness of her sides as his fingers counted her ribs.

Suddenly, Sarah's desire to feel her bare body pressed against his overcame every facet of her composure and she pushed herself away from him. Her hands crossed in front of her, fingers digging beneath the rims of her shirt before she pulled it up and over her body. River's eyes angled down to watch her breasts spring free.

He lost control all over again and pressed forth, and his desire to ravage her collided with her desire to feel her naked breasts touching up against his chest. Her arms whipped around behind his neck again and his around her waist, his body turning her and pushing her towards the bed until she tripped over it, her back landing flat on its forgiving surface. Her upper body elevated to scoot up along the bed further but paused to see him reaching for her shorts, grasping them and pulling them down the length of her legs along with her underwear.

In one fell swoop, he finished revealing her frontal nudity and the dimly lit gaze present on his face evoked a fire in her that she wanted to spend hours upon hours dousing with him. His movements no longer relaxed, he was upon her before she could fully sit up and help him remove his shorts, and she was forced to lie flat down on the bed again. Then his hands pressed down against her sides firmly before expanding across her frontal torso, his fingers crossing and overcoming the pink protrusions at the apex of her breasts.

Her toned legs spread wide open to accept his hips between them, and when he settled there, she wrapped them around his waist and welcomed him onto her body the same way she would however minutes later, when he plunged into her. Not long after his hands graced her smooth breasts, his body angled down and she felt his warm, moist lips gracing them instead. His tongue and his breath washed over her left nipple while his hand massaged the other one. Her eyes shot downwards then, watching him act out and eventually . . . grinned.

Just as she was considering how satisfying it was to have seduced him, how satisfying it was to have him licking from her body with no restraint, his hips pressed firmly against her pelvis, teasing the prospect of penetration and her mouth opened wide. Her tongue slipped out, lapping at her lips before she let her body drop flat on the bed, arching her back and pushing her breasts up further into the air, where they continued to meet his enthusiastic lips. By then, each of their bodies had risen to meet the occasion with her internal cavity nearly dripping with moisture and his member stiff and upright. She could feel it while he could only imagine what was going on with her.

"Take it off," she whispered out, prompting him to sit up straight. When she saw him reaching for the rims of his shorts in preparation to pull them down, she realized that this was moving so much faster than she anticipated. There were so many things she expected to do before reaching this point, and River got a glimpse of it when he pushed his shorts down and felt her hands grabbing hold of his hips and guiding him towards her.

He never even saw it coming when her moist lips wrapped around his member and slid down along its length repeatedly, her tongue lapping at it inside with equal interest. River's mouth opened to draw in a deep breath as he looked down, peering into her closed eyes as she leaned in and out with satisfying rapidity. Sarah loved how smooth his member was upon her lips, smoother than any other portion of his body, something that distinguished it in a hypnotizing way and only held his hips close to her even tighter in response to it.

From River's perspective, he could tell that she was rushing each and every time she lowered upon his member as if she was trying to do as much as she could in the short time frame that they had. He could only guess the kind of thoughts that drove her lust for placing him between her lips, but he could see genuine and unadulterated enthusiasm in the act. She found pleasure in partaking in River's body, called his name repeatedlyin her head as she did it, and finally knew what it must have been like for whatever other women he had partaken in during his travels prior to tonight.

She let his member go free with an immoral pop of her lips and went onto her back, spreading her legs so that he could have a full glimpse of what awaited him. He did just that, looked down to see the nearly imperceptible blonde vellum hairs just above her womanhood before he inched towards her again. Likewise, she had noticed that he was well groomed down below, something she attributed to the time he spent in the vault.

When he reached down she peered straight into his eyes, never moving them in another direction even as she felt his member pushing past her outer labia. The tip penetrated further, followed by an utterly satisfying girth, and finally she closed her eyes and moaned into the air with restrained abandon. Meanwhile, River felt his sensitive member sinking into a moist, warm orifice that contracted around him before a pair of powerful legs pulled him onto her body completely.

His eyebrows furrowed and his hips started to shift back and forth repeatedly, staring at her face, her closed eyes and her supple pink lips, which were parted in a desperate effort to breathe successfully as he moved. Her hands spread out to the bed and her back pushed skyward again, arching as if her soul was trying to exit from her chest, and gripped the sheets tightly once she could hear the sounds of him clapping against her.

" _Ohhhh . . . Riveeeeer . . . "_ she cooed, much to his delight. With her urging him to continue, even if it was indirectly, he surveyed her skin and noted the fact that power armor had done its job protecting her. There were no scars on her torso to be spoken of, only a mark on her left shoulder that he thought may have been a high powered bullet that penetrated the metallic mesh of the joints. Her face was smooth, beautiful even with no makeup, and received yet another tantalizing gift from her when she reached to the top of her head and removed the hair loop that tamed her golden hair. Letting it loose, it splashed across the bed on which she rested and her beautiful blue eyes were revealed to the world again by a pair of half-open lids.

With their eyes momentarily aligned, she put one final exclamation point on the fact that she was in control of their romance tonight. Her lips pursed at him, throwing a mocking smooch at him that drove him even crazier. For Sarah, watching him thrust his hips between her legs with such desperation was a triumph. The minutes passed and she began to see glimpses of his endurance. Thrust after thrust, he kept going, her legs eventually springing apart, feet no longer able to keep themselves hooked together around his back. They swayed in response to each of his movements the same way her breasts slid up and down on her chest.

That was when she settled down, laying on her back doing nothing as he did all the work. She watched him sit up straight and thrust into her like he wanted to split her in half, watched him turn her onto her side, letting her legs close with his member still inside of her. There, his pelvis collided against her rear, sending ripples across each cheek that he delighted watching.

Minutes later, her chest pushed outward, toes curling tightly until she sprayed River's member with a loud moan she attempted to drown against her pillow. It continued for a while after that, and it became a magnificent blur. By the time she felt him pull out, splotches of something so warm it was nearly hot landing on her outer thigh, her hips, and her sides, she had no idea how much time had gone by, and it didn't matter.

River dropped onto the bed behind her and she turned around, blindly reaching out to cradle his face before she pressed her lips firmly against his. He returned the gesture with as much enthusiasm and as she threw her left leg over his waist, his slid his onto her right thigh, which was resting flat on the bed. There, they cradled each other in their arms, listening to one another's breaths and pounding heart beats.

Sarah slid her sweaty forehead onto River's chest and went unmoving there, eyes slowly coming to a close, smiling warmly while she wondered if there was anything to say. She resolved to touch on the topic the next morning, going silent and ignoring him if he called to her until she actually fell asleep. He'd still be there the next morning, she was sure.

* * *

River's sleeping schedule was reverse. He rested during the hours of the day and lived his waking life beneath the moon and the stars, so when Sarah fell asleep on him after a night of passion and lust, he was left abandoned. He lay there with her in his arms for hours, thinking about what had happened, glancing at her beautiful face and wondering what would go through her head when she woke up the next morning.

Unlike him, she wouldn't have the time to think everything out thoroughly. By now, he had ruminated and arrived at the belief that this was the most satisfying sexual encounter he had ever had. Not only was he attracted to her physically, he found, but he was deeply motivated by her good nature to give her companionship, to give her his heart. Did she feel the same way?

She stirred and River flinched, startled, feeling her soft hand caressing his left cheek. "You're still awake?" she inquired, her voice delicate, reflective of her grogginess. "Go to sleep . . . " she urged, looking up at him in the darkness. He said nothing, choosing not to remind her of his nocturnal nature and tilted his head when her head dropped flat again, giving up on staying awake much longer.

"You're going to have to come back regularly so we can keep getting to know each other."

River's heart skipped a beat and resumed in a fury, something she eventually began to feel with her head resting on his chest.

"You do want to, don't you?" she questioned, her hand sliding along his left pectoral.

River paused to think about it, his body shivering as her hand slipped along his chest, remembering that he never expected her military discipline to make her _this_ straight forward in matters of love. It looked like she was going to be as in control of her love life as she was of her military life.

"Yeah," he responded, "I do want to." With a kiss on her forehead, she settled back into place and closed her eyes, smiling warmly from an angle he couldn't see. She felt at home in his arms, on track as well, as if this was exactly where she was supposed to be at this moment in time. The future suddenly seemed so bright, and she couldn't wait a single moment to embark on the road that led to the rest of her days.

With him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Note:** That's right, this is no longer a one shot! I enjoyed writing the first chapter enough that I decided to explore the possibilities surrounding a post-purifier and post-enclave Capital Wasteland. This one will very likely be shorter than my other fic, _The Desert Rangers._

* * *

Sarah's eyes opened again and the second her consciousness returned to her in entirety, the first thought she was able to form was inquisitive. She turned her head up towards River at about the same time that her chest tingled warmly, still enthralled with their newly christened unity, and was surprised to find that his eyes were closed. Judging from the rhythm of his rising and descending chest, showing her his breathing patterns, he was actually asleep.

Unable to get enough of him, she rested her head on him and began kissing his chest, trailing soft, stealthy kisses along his pectorals, absorbed into her own passion all over again. It would have been a joy to succumb to it again this morning but after glancing at a simplistic clock hanging in her room, she could see that bedtime had come to an unfortunate end.

She stirred from her position, attempting her best to dislodge herself from him without waking him up, but to no avail. His eyes fluttered open before being guided towards her face, where she smiled softly and attempted to ease him back to sleep. "Sleep," she said, patting his chest a few times as she continued removing herself from the bed.

River settled down into the bed and rubbed his eyes, opening them again to find a long satisfying glimpse of her, stripped to the barest flesh, sashaying around the room in search of the things she was going to need shortly. Firstly a towel and then a container of body wash, which she was fortunate to have gotten her hands on. He could see how much of a treasure it was to her when she shook it to discern how much of it was left inside, and then she turned to put her underwear and shorts back on.

While she finished covering herself with that white t shirt she was wearing the night before, River never removed his placid green gaze from her. "I told you to go to sleep, _Mr. Osage . . . "_ she teased. "That's an order."

In response, he took in a deep breath and sat up, something she saw as a defiant motion. Her hands rose to settle on each of her hips, but before she could reprimand him any further, he elaborated, "Need to talk to you and your father. Privately."

Though his voice was eternally soft and quiet, her eyebrows tightened ever so slightly. Whenever River came to the Citadel to speak to her father, something big usually followed. The first time, he returned just in time to spark an assault on the Enclave controlled Purifier. Destroying the Enclave remnants in Adams Air Force base was well in play before he woke up, so she wasn't counting that, but after that was over he disappeared for five months. Most of the Brotherhood members thought he would never come back, but he did.

She still remembered the meeting she and her father had with him that day. Firstly, he explained why he had been gone so long. He had embarked on a search for a specific set of components necessary for the reactivation of the bomb in Megaton. Why? He wanted the Brotherhood to lend him some vertibirds and troops so that he could move it to Vault 87, plant it inside, and decimate the source of the Capital Wasteland super mutants once and for all.

The mission succeeded. The Brotherhood lost eighteen brothers there but the promise of dwindling numbers for the super mutant army made it worth it. Her father thanked him for making such a plan possible but before River left for the waste land again he said he would be back soon, that he would need the Brotherhood's help . . . this time with something more personal.

That must have been the reason why, and the memory of it was blaring loudly in her mind as she watched him put his clothes on. It didn't stop until she heard knocking on her door, Knight Captain Dusk's mature feminine tone calling her name.

"Sentinel Lyons," she called, "Your father wishes your presence at 0800 hours."

With a glance at the clock again, Sarah saw that she had just over twenty minutes to get her shower over with. "Can I ask what about?" she asked, watching River as his shirt slid on and he looked to her, smiling in a way reminiscent of last night. She didn't return it. She kept her face as firm as a statue and waited for an answer.

"It's about a friend and about Oasis."

As he walked towards the door, she followed him, intent on having the story well before they reached her father. "Is it big?" she inquired. River turned to glance over his shoulder at her as the door opened, and she caught a glimpse of Dusk. She wore full Power armor including the helmet, and stood there waiting for her commanding officer, Sentinel Lyons. "It's important," River assured her, turning around to find Dusk as well.

The awkwardness set in immediately. It didn't bother him that someone would know that they had spent the night together but he wasn't sure about Sarah. Dusk, on the other hand, trained a watchful eye on them and was gladdened by the fact that her helmet obscured her expressions. With a nod, she greeted each of them, the Lone Wanderer and Sentinel Lyons, "Sentinel, LW." She kept her sentence curt, hoping to purport a neutral stance in the direction of their romance.

"Morning, Knight Captain," Sarah answered swiftly while River greeted her as well. "Dusk," he said. Again, the Knight Captain's helmet nodded to him, and Sarah approached her, "What is it?" Dusk's stationary nature in front of her door was strange. Usually, she relayed information and moved on.

In response to Sarah's question, Dusk's body shifted, "I was going to ask if you had seen LW . . . "

River' body stiffened, close to laughing at the irony of it before he turned to Dusk again, "You're seriously calling me LW?" Dusk responded, "Everyone does. Around here at least." Sarah responded in River's stead, "He's a Knight."

Dusk nearly asked to be assured of it but decided to take the high road, responding with a defusing tone, "Didn't mean any disrespect, ma'am. The Lone Wanderer title is worthy of respect in and of itself." Though that was true and she meant it, Dusk, and the rest of the Lyons' pride, often questioned River's status as a Knight of the Brotherhood. He operated above and beyond the chain of command. Not even Gallows had the freedom he had. Fortunately, there wasn't enough ill will to mention these facts out loud to anyone.

"Thank you, Knight Captain," Sarah answered, her tone much softer now. "Sounds like something big is coming up. I'll have details as soon as I'm done speaking to the Elder."

"Yes ma'am," Dusk answered dutifully. Like Sarah, she knew of the Lone Wanderer's track record. Every time he was involved, things got shaky. Though she was proud and sustained by the accomplishments the Brotherhood had obtained in recent battles, she would never forget the losses she had incurred aiding him on his missions. Colvin died in Vault 87, torn limb from limb by super mutants while the rest of the team banged and shot at the door that separated them from their brother.

His screams still echoed in her mind sometimes, forcing her to wonder if maybe one day she would be screaming the exact same way while _her_ brothers in arms listened helplessly. Then she remembered super mutants stopped claiming so many Brotherhood lives and guessed that Colvin would have been proud to know he contributed to it.

* * *

Sarah was in her father's office wearing every piece of her power armor except her helmet. She never wore it because she felt it obstructed her periphery, limiting her offensive prowess during combat. She also felt it provided her with a beneficial balance between confidence in the protection of her power armor and caution due to having her head fully exposed.

The door opened and both Elder Lyons and Sarah turned to watch him step in. He was wearing his standard outfit now, what they were both used to seeing him in until Sarah spent a night with him. Green combat armor leggings, a bullet proof vest covered by another hooded brown leather vest with branches protruding from its surface.

Diagonally across his chest was a bandoleer with railroad spikes residing in the tiny cylinders and a grisly looking handle protruded from his left shoulder, belonging to a double edged sword crafted from a lawn mower blade. A strange looking laser rifle sat holstered on his left hip. The stock and the under-bar were removed and the handle lengthened, turning it into what should be a high yield laser pistol. Instead, the nearly onyx weapon was more like a laser shotgun, a weapon he obtained in what was called _the Pitt._ Considering that lasers didn't create much recoil at all, River wielded it with one hand to devastating results.

"River, it is a pleasure to see you alive and well, my boy. Tell me, what is it that you must speak to me about?" Elder Lyons' tone was an almost melodic voice to hear. It had the power to usher calm into the most fervent of situations, and it had certainly done so before. In this case, what would have sounded like a platitude coming from the lips of anyone else sounded sincere when coming from Elder Lyons. River genuinely felt as though the Elder was pleased with his well-being.

As a result, River approached and bowed his head low, eager to show his respect in kind. "Elder Lyons," he answered, "it's good to see that you're doing well, too. There are three things I would like to say, and the first is that I'd like to apologize." Elder Lyons, though the sharpest of his attention was evoked, never changed the calm in his eyes as he waited for River to elaborate after he stood straight again. Sarah watched River intently as well, her gaze much more stern than her father's.

"I've been meaning to tell you about Oasis and I haven't been able to do so until now. I'm afraid it'll look like I'm only doing it because I need your help to protect them and not because I trust you enough now."

Elder Lyons answered with an enduring calm, as if everything he said had been assessed very thoroughly prior. "Do not let this bother you, River. You've long earned my trust. Whatever reason stopped you from telling me about Oasis before, it must have been sufficient. Now, go on. With a calm heart."

River nodded appreciably and began, "Oasis is just like Three Dog's broadcasts say; a place full of lush forestry. Plants and trees grow freely there and with reckless abandon now. The reason why is a person by the name of Harold."

The first thought that came to the Elder's mind, as well as his daughter's, was that Harold must have been some kind of learned botanist that had found a way for plants to grow in this barrel landscape. Nevertheless, each of them waited for River's explanation to continue. His hesitation, however, was somewhat alarming.

"Harold is . . . a mutant. But he didn't change like the mutants we've encountered before. Not like ghouls or the things from Vault 87. He says he's from out west, and that he fell into a pool of some liquid that . . . fused him and a friend together. My guess is that the mystery liquid must have been an FEV strain."

By now, Elder Lyons was relatively familiar with what River called the FEV. The young wanderer had done some searching in Enclave databases and found information on the substance, information that he then relayed to both he and Rothchild.

"Harold became a humanoid tree, rooted to the same location for decades now. The mutation then enabled the growth of plants all around him, creating the place we now know as Oasis. About a year ago, after I left vault 101, I was captured by raiders at Springvale Elementary and when I made my escape, I fled north until I collapsed. Harold felt me and alerted the Treeminders, who came to my rescue."

The story had gone so far out of scope that even Elder Lyons shifted in his seat. "Felt you?" he asked, to which River nodded. "How?" the Elder followed.

"Harold says that many of the plants that had grown around Oasis are an extension of him and that he can sometimes feel through them."

"I see," Elder Lyons responded.

"After they rescued me, I helped them resolve a conflict. Harold wanted to be euthanized because he couldn't stand being stuck to the same location anymore. What's worse, the Treeminders worship him. Tree Father Birch, their leader, treats him more like a god than a person, but there are others who might be willing to see beyond their religious view of the situation. Leaf Mother Laurel, his wife, would be the best example."

For Sarah, the names began to sound more and more silly. If it wasn't for the sheer amount of accomplishments that River had made, both she and her father would have had him peacefully escorted out of the Citadel. Instead, each of them listened in silence.

"Harold asked me to venture into the underground caves to pierce his heart, which would kill him instantly, painlessly. Tree Father Birch wanted me to apply some kind of sap to his heart to stunt Harold's growth because he wanted to avoid gathering attention to Oasis. Leaf Mother Laurel believed Harold's gift of plant growth was a gift for all of the wasteland, not just the Treeminders, and gave me a liniment that would accelerate the growth and bring lush green forestry to the Capital Wasteland sooner rather than later. It looks like Leaf Mother Laurel knows her chemistry . . . because Harold's expanding for sure."

The next time River spoke, it was with more energy in his voice, with more desperation, "You see, Oasis is just as much a gift to the Capital Wasteland as the Purifier. We need to keep it safe. Send a team with me, Elder Lyons. They'll confirm my findings."

After a deeply thoughtful pause, Elder Lyons spoke again, his dialogue brief, "You want to pre-emptively set up a layer of protection around Oasis."

River reached into his Treeminder vest and pulled out a piece of paper, approaching the Elder and setting it down on his desk where he could look at it. It was a contract that read, _Find Oasis and bring back to us the location._

As the aging leader looked up to River again, he received more elaboration, "Found it on a Talon Company Merc. I think I have an idea of who wants to know where Oasis is. An agency called L and A. I found notes about them in a room belonging to a man named Burke, who once asked me to activate the bomb in Megaton and blow it sky high for a pretty penny."

As his speech continued, the old man could hear River's voice growing just slightly louder and louder, as if each passing moment injected more desperation into the words.

"These people are bad news, Elder Lyons. The Super Mutants were somewhat mindless in their destruction of the Capital Wasteland. These people are not. They're precise like scalpels. They'll mutilate our home with surgical precision."

By the time River was finished, he was leaning up against the Elder's desk, his hands pressed down firmly against it for support and staring into his old eyes, so greedy for an answer that he attempted to have one before he ever heard another word. The aged leader didn't offer one, his eyes flickering off to his daughter, who looked at him in return for a few moments and then back to River.

"I fear you may be right."

River instantly felt an enormous weight dropping from his shoulders. There was no way to properly accredit Elder Lyons for his gallant balance of strength, wisdom and open mindedness.

"What would be the purpose of taking a team to Oasis now?"

Sarah felt some weight falling from her shoulders as well. The zeal that River displayed regarding this matter called to her warrior's pride, urging her to do what she did best, fight for the better of the Capital Wasteland. After hearing her father's apparent willingness to cooperate, it became more about anticipation and she looked to River to hear how she might satisfy it.

"As of now, I doubt Talon Company knows the exact location of Oasis, but that's just a guess. I imagine they wouldn't go back to their employers with an _idea_ of where they believe it is so they would want to make contact with it, and the Treeminders haven't reported any contact thus far. If we want to be cautious, I'll ask for as large a contingency as you can spare but if we think we have enough reason to believe they haven't found it yet, ten sentries should be enough. Their work would be easier with Harold there telling them if something anomalous is approaching, and from where."

Elder Lyons sunk into a deep thought process, taking into account the operations the Brotherhood was already running. Though the super mutant threat had been deterred to some degree recently, bringing the Purifier online almost completely removed the advantage considering how much protection he had devoted to it. He found it hard to believe that a mutated humanoid tree could be relied upon to relay enemy positions. If he could be, however, mechanized sentries like sentry bots and protectrons would be unnecessary, meaning he could keep them here, protecting the Citadel and accompanying his soldiers on their missions.

"A scribe, too." River hesitated for a moment, aware that what he was about to say next was probably what would grate on the Elder the most. "A medic." Before allowing the Elder to search for his own conclusions mentally, River continued, "Before I explain, let me just that I . . . I don't want to create tensions with the Treeminders."

It wasn't until now that Sentinal Lyons spoke up, "As long as they're not obstructing us from securing a brighter future for the Capital Wasteland, there wont be any tensions. We can't let the ignorance of a group of tribals stop us."

As the words reverberated into his ears, he offered up an expression that showed he was expecting for one of them to say something along those lines. "I know. I think they'll buy in but they'll need time. To start, they won't let anybody meet with Harold unless they trust you and unless you undergo a right of passage, which entails drinking some kind of sap that puts you in an unconscious state."

"That's not going to happen. It's too dangerous. We don't know these people," Sarah responded, with Elder Lyons sitting by quietly, allowing them to continue but listening closely and drawing his own conclusions from the exchange. The silence was enough for River to surmise that Sarah's father believed her words at least held _some_ weight, and needed to be attended.

"I had to do the same thing. I drank the sap and when I woke up, I was in the grove about fifteen feet away from Harold, safe and sound. This time, when you lose consciousness, I'll be awake the whole time and I'll make sure nothing else is done. The reason I'm asking for the medic is so that he can survey the sap and figure out if any of our contingent could suffer complications arising from an allergic reaction."

In the silence that ensued, Elder Lyons angled his eyes down, his frail, wrinkled lids fluttering softly before speaking, "And once we have this protective contingent in Oasis, what of L and A?"

River angled his head down, "I have one more thing to ask of you still before we get to that." Both Elder Lyons and Sarah noted the regret in his tone. He was aware that he was asking a lot and was ashamed to do so. That alone made him easier to process.

"You are among friends, River," Sarah's father assured. "Not strangers. There is no need to be so mindful of equivalent exchanges between us."

After drawing in another deep breath, River answered, "I believe we're friends. What I don't believe is that I should feel at peace asking for so much without having much to give in return."

Elder Lyons' voice began softly but it gradually became firm as it went on, "You helped us remove the Enclave. Helped bring the Purifier online so that the Capital Wastes could drink of aqua pura. You helped us cripple the super mutant threat, and now you are attempting to ensure the Capital Wasteland becomes a place filled with lush green forestry from which the people may partake one day."

When the Elder's speech ended, River's shoulders slumped and he straightened out. "One day, I swear I'll make you feel like there's nothing more you can ask for in life, Elder Lyons."

"I look forward to it," the older gentleman settled. "Now what else is there that you wish to ask of me?"

"Fawkes."

Both the Elder and his daughter recognized the name. The last time they had seen the large curious fellow was during their assault on the Purifier. Suddenly, he seemed like an unsung hero, considering he was the one to step into the chamber to activate the machine. Sarah noted the same, abruptly assaulted with the realization that she failed to thank him for ensuring that neither she or River sacrificed themselves in that radioactive tomb.

"All super mutants go behemoth after a while," River enlightened, his tone melancholy and regretful. "They lose their intelligence as they do. Fawkes will no longer be himself if I can't find a way to stop his mutation from maturing. I want to bring him here to see if your scientists can help him."

This matter didn't take very long, much to River's surprise.

"I believe Rothchild will be pleased to have a live super mutant specimen to study. For months now our Knights and Paladins have been gathering blood samples for him. We'll see if all that work is going to pay off."

With the conversation coming to an end, River found himself feeling barren. He took debts rather seriously, and as far as he was concerned, he had just taken one up that he might be attempting to pay off for the rest of his life.

"This only leaves the matter of L and A."

If he wasn't feeling like some kind of bratty child, River would have smiled and teased the old man for being so deceptively sharp of mind. Despite his advanced age, he didn't seem to miss or forget a thing. No loose ends were left unattended, and for once, this was a question River felt at peace responding to.

"I'll handle it after we've established a protective force in Oasis. I'll need to do some digging before I come up with a plan of dealing with them. First I need to find the head of the snake before I can cut it."

"How do you intend to do that?" Lyons asked, eager to be aware of all the existing dimensions of River's activities.

"There are two people I think who must know _something_ about them. The first is Allistair Tenpenny, The second option would be Talon Company mercs, but it could take a lot longer to find out via those means. More dangerous, too. Speaking of Talon Company . . . there's something I suppose I should tell you."

It was surprising but there were no signs of fatigue in the Elder. The conversation had gone on for a while, filled with matters that had required intensive consideration and even yet, he didn't appear exasperated. Sarah was another story. The moment she heard there was something else about Talon Company, River saw her shift her feet into a different position.

"I think I've put two and two together. Fort Bannister and the Capitol Building, I mean. In the old world, high ranking government officials might have been in the possession of missile launch codes, right? I think that's what they were looking for in the Capitol Building, so that they could launch missiles from Fort Bannister. I'm not sure if they were right to be searching there or not, but I think that was the intention nevertheless."

"Do you believe they found anything . . . before . . . "

River shook his head with certainty, "No. I suppose it was a good thing that we brought the place to the ground pre-emptively. Whatever they wanted there couldn't be good for the Capital Wasteland."

The conversation had shifted to the Capitol Building momentarily, an image that she remembered clearly because it was burned into her mind like a cattle brand. Now it was a mound of rubble after River planted explosives on the most vital columns of the building and detonated them. It had been a hot topic of conversation for quite a while among Brotherhood soldiers for the dubious nature of the endeavor, but now she had an answer.

"How long before they find whatever they need to fire missiles successfully . . . "

The question that Elder Lyons posed was rhetorical, intended to guide each River's and Sarah's minds towards his point of view on it. The answer was an unknown. For all they knew, Talon Company could be acquiring something of use this very moment.

"We are rid of the Enclave and the super mutant threat is relatively tame, yet we may have a dire enemy in Talon Company now as well as in this . . . L and A. There is yet much work to be done, but we will see it through . . . _after_ I go watch the stone cutter do his work for a time. Thank you, River. As always, your visits are satisfyingly enlightening. I must discuss these matters with my Sentinel. When we have decided how we will allocate our resources into these endeavors, we will let you know. Bring Fawkes as soon as you are able and when he approaches, ask him to hold his hands up in the air as a signal to our sentries."

"Yes, Elder Lyons," River answered, turning around after offering Sarah a glance, who watched him with a stoic gaze as he left the room.

Now alone with Sarah, Elder Lyons stood and paced until he was standing with both hands behind his back, gazing into what seemed like infinity. Then he spoke, "Raiders and slavers are still rampant. Talon Company is at work. L and A."

Listening to her father state the titles of all the enemies that still remained in the Capital Wasteland, she approached him, wondering what she could do to reassure him of their efforts, unaware of all of his far away thoughts. As she stopped behind him, he began to believe for the first time since he set up in the Capital Wasteland that the work he intended to do would very likely outlast him in years.


	3. Chapter 3

River waited with his legs hanging off a high ledge overlooking the courtyard. The sun was at its highest point in the sky, making it difficult to find shade from it. Since stepping out from the Vault and having his eyes assaulted by its unforgiving berth the first time, he disdained the flaming blotch, and thought it a fortunate reprieve when the moon rose and ushered it away to the other side of the world.

Below, he could see Paladin Gunny training initiates, ordering them to run laps around the whole yard, testing and building their endurance at the same time. After spending a while idly minding the motions of the initiates and their drill sergeant, he noticed two youthful faces he instantly recognized. Knick Knack and Knock Knock, twins brother and sister, fifteen years old. They were former inhabitants of a network of caverns called the Lamplight Caverns. The nuclear destruction of Vault 87 threatened their home so they were evacuated before it happened.

Knick Knack had gotten taller and his shoulders had grown broader since River last saw him. His sister had also gotten taller but unlike her brother, her growth was more discernible in her expression than in her body. There was maturity there that wasn't present when he met her the first time. She had knife like focus as she worked, her brows furrowed tight.

Both of them wore white t shirts with blue fatigues, their blonde hair cut into a more professional and practical style. They seemed to be taking laser rifles apart and putting them back together under the supervision of a paladin in full power armor. Though a part of him was glad to see that they were healthy and well taken care of, another part of him was sad to see them more disciplined and thereby stripped of the nuances he found charming when he met them in Little Lamplight.

Knock Knock's interest in the collection of jokes, and telling them, was a beautiful reminder as to the purity and grace of childhood that was rare in this post-apocalyptic world. Her giggle was something that would echo in his ears for a long time to come whenever he thought about her. It was astounding to imagine that he could still be around to see her walking around in full power armor one day, toting a deadly laser rifle. That or perhaps in Scribe robes, working scientific wonders that would help soldiers in the field stay alive.

Glancing elsewhere, he started to wonder how the other children were doing. Though they were all offered safety under the Brotherhood after being asked to abandon their homes, not all of them accepted. Mayor MacCready, the thirteen year old leader of the group, decided against joining. Because he was widely accepted by the denizens of the caverns, most of them followed him where he went, that being a place called Big Town. All children living in Little Lamplight headed there once they turned sixteen, kicked out by the younger generation. Most who opted to join the Brotherhood did so because they were swayed by some sensitive information.

About a year and a few months ago, three Little Lamplighters, members of the scavenging team, headed off in search of supplies for their home. The team was comprised of two boys. Squirrel was aged thirteen years and Sammy ten. A girl named Penny accompanied them as well, aged twelve, and they were captured by a slaver band operating out of a location called Paradise Falls. Before being freed by River, who distracted a nearby guard long enough for them to escape, they met slaves from Big Town but none from the Citadel, painting their future home in an all too vulnerable light.

A girl who called herself Princess agreed to join the Brotherhood presumably because she spent a lot of time with Sammy guarding the rearmost entrance to Little Lamplight, having had ample time to listen to the story about inhabitants from Big Town suffering from super mutant and slaver attacks. Joseph was Penny's brother so his presence here was similar to Princess', apparently born of proximity to one of the captured children as well.

Knick Knack's and Knock Knock's reasons, on the other hand, were more shrouded in mystery. River theorized them to have chosen to live at the Citadel as a result of nothing more than sharp instinct, simply _aware_ what the correct decision was. Or perhaps that was just the answer for _one_ of them because naturally, one or the other would follow the sibling wherever he or she went.

Despite escorting MacCready and those other loyalist children to Big Town himself, the rather aggressive child never thanked him or uttered another word to him once he was among his new people. That spunky little boy was the reason why River didn't find the idea of visiting Big Town particularly appealing. One slip and he could end up with a bullet in his head.

The sound of a door swinging open followed by a calm series of heavy steps pulled him from his thoughts. Throwing a glance over his right shoulder revealed that it was Sarah in armor, who approached him and stood beside him, watching the courtyard the same way he did.

"Been meaning to ask how the Little Lamplighters are doing."

She answered by heavily blowing air through her lips, as if she didn't even believe the question was necessary.

"They're doing damn well. They're better off here than most of the initiates we took in before from the wasteland. In Little Lamplight there was _order_. They all had their jobs to do and they did them. When they came here we saiddiscipline and they asked to be told something new, i.e. power armor. They're _mean_ to boot . . . Angela made one of the initiates cry."

River's eyebrows contorted slightly, unfamiliar with the name. "Angela?" he asked, to which Sarah responded, "You knew her as _Princess._ " He instantly erupted into soft laughter remembering the tiny, brown haired diva.

"Who's the initiate?"

Sarah responded with a digressive tone, "Ohhhhh I think I've gossiped enough. I'll save the initiate any more hassling. Paladin Gunny's got that under control."

With that, she maneuvered herself and sat down next to him, her legs hanging off the ledge as well, a heavier air swirling into place around her. A few moments later, she moved the conversation in a more serious direction.

"We're sending fifteen of our brothers to garrison at Oasis. No vertibirds. They'll be escorted by the Lyons Pride, who will stand by once we get there until you figure out what we'll do about L and A. Father is concerned about Fort Bannister."

River assessed what he had just been told and concluded with a nod.

"I don't blame him. I've been concerned about them for a while myself. I see it like this; L and A is quite possibly responsible for most of the contracts they take. We get rid of their employers and the employees suffer to some degree as well."

Though he regretted that they couldn't be transported to Oasis via veritbird, large flying contraptions with propellers that allowed vertical take-off, he understood the move. They were an expensive commodity and Oasis was not in immediate danger. Elder Lyons often preserved them for dire situations, when their involvement would save hundreds of lives.

"Have you been to Fort Bannister?" Sarah asked.

River shifted in his seat, leaning back to rest his weight on the palm of his hands. The breath that he released gave Sarah indication that he wished his imminent response was different.

"Yeah. It's heavily guarded and easy to defend. Heavy weaponry, the works. They've brought some of the automated defenses online, too. Robobrains, Mr. Gutsies, protectrons and even sentrybots patrol the perimeter. Wouldn't be surprised if there are functional automated turrets inside the complex."

"Father thinks we should make a move sooner rather than later, before it's too late. Wouldn't want what happened to Liberty Prime and Adams Air Force Base happening here in the Citadel. Or Oasis. The Purifier?"

Adams Air Force Base flashed before his eyes, mostly the memory of the platform going up in flames after the orbital strike. For most of the Brotherhood, the visual of that was a momentous victory. For River, however, it was a bittersweet image. The Brotherhood didn't have the resources or the time to clean out the base one Enclave soldier at a time, and so it was blown off the map with the push of a button. Preserving Adams Air Force Base would have made it easier to deal with Fort Bannister.

Despite wading through a viscous swamp of thoughts, he managed to respond, but it seemed like he had to work into his voice gradually.

"I would say a frontal assault, or even a multi-pronged one from various different directions as soon as possible is the wrong approach." He carried his eyes to Sarah and peered into hers, "I'd _choke_ them first. I've seen groups of them come and go, bringing back supplies. First two weeks go by and they realize something's wrong because their scavengers aren't coming back. In the following week, whoever they send out to investigate also goes missing."

"The Elder said the same thing," she mentioned. She hadn't heard of the tactic of choking supply lines since early basic training, mostly because super mutants didn't follow typical protocol. They could survive on radiation alone, indulging on their victims every now and then. In response, River nodded and continued with an elaboration on the matter.

"By the time the real fighting starts, perhaps a month into the campaign if we're lucky, they've already missed enough shipments to be desperate and prone to mistakes. Barring, of course, that they're not smart enough to have an enormous stash of food without using it in favor of using those external supplies their runners bring in to keep the stash plentiful in case of emergency. The only other worry we would have are reinforcements from the outside."

After thinking it through as thoroughly as she could, she nodded, "Agreed."

"Automated defenses don't starve obviously but if we're fighting a bunch of hungry mercs, we could avoid a few casualties. Anyway, we'll head off tomorrow at dawn."

"I thought you preferred to travel at night."

River drew a deep breath and released it in unison with his dialogue. "I'm the minority. Everyone else prefers the visibility of the day time. I'll be the only one out of whack whereas if we traveled mostly during the night, I might be the _only_ one who is comfortable."

"Makes sense," Sarah answered, a light flashing in her eyes. "I just realized something. If we kick Talon Company out of Fort Bannister, maybe Rothchild can figure out a way to bring the missile launchers online. Then we'd have the option of targeting Paradise Falls. Two birds, one stone."

River's eyes flashed as well momentarily, turning to look at her. "You're right."

* * *

At thirteen hundred hours, the Lyons Pride assembled in the Den, the group's own private mess hall located in what was known as the A ring section of the Citadel. There were six members total, including Sentinel Sarah Lyons and River. Sarah's second in command was Paladin Glade, given the position after the death of Paladin Vargas at the hands of Enclave soldiers during the attack on the Purifier.

He was a heavy weapons specialist and the oldest member of the Lyons Pride who habitually wore the complete set of power armor like some of the others. He had been chosen over three other members of the Lyons Pride for the position.

Sarah picked him over Knight Captain Dusk, the group's designated sniper, because his specialization urged him to mind the whole battlefield instead of giving him tunnel vision periodically. Knight Captain Gallows did most of his work alone and performed recon duties for the group that she didn't want hampered by the burden of command. That left Paladin Kodiak, a large athletic man who specialized in versatility but was younger and therefore less experienced than Glade.

River never received consideration for the position because he was rarely available, often gone for lengthy periods of time and present only for short durations, but he wouldn't be surprised if that speculation was generous. Since the moment Sarah offered him a position in her illustrious group, he knew she had taken a liking to him, but he never believed she wouldn't subject him to the same rigorous expectations as the others if he was in the running for second in command. There may have been another, more tactical reason involved.

He thought he could already hear Sarah's response if he ever asked her why she invited him to join the Pride. She would say that she was following typical protocol, acquiring nothing but the best candidates to serve in the group instead of admitting that it was also partially because she wanted him closer. In the end, he was glad that he was never considered for the position. If Sarah had been immature enough to appoint him, the move would have created friction with the rest of the group, not that her headstrong personality would have faltered because of some disgruntled subordinates.

Overall, River could _feel_ the way most of the group resisted him. He thought receiving basic training from Paladin Gunny would have done something to ease those tensions, but no such luck. The fortune here, what little of it there was, could be found in the fact that despite his dubious position in the Pride, they all at least respected his contributions enough not to be hostile towards him. For him, that was enough. It was all he needed.

Paladins Glade and Kodiak, alongside Knight Captain Dusk, each sat on chairs in the Den while Gallows, a man of few words, stood leaning against a wall. River stood by with his arms folded softly over his stomach. Now that everyone was there, Sarah began briefing them on the mission that they were about to undergo.

"We're escorting a group of fifteen brothers north," she said, leaning in and placing a map on an empty table. Everyone's attention gravitated towards it. Gallows even removed himself from the wall and approached, watching with the others as Sarah pointed out the route that they were taking, highlighted in red. "North of the Citadel for a few miles before we slant northwest. First rest stop will be the Super-Duper Mart. Knight Osage uses it as a safe house and has enough supplies there to hold us for a while if we run into trouble."

"Megaton's nearby if it gets any worse," River chimed in quietly. With a firm nod, Sarah continued, "From there, we head almost straight north again. Knight Osage says that the next stop is Meresti Trainyard, where a group of friendlies reside."

There was no pair of eyes more active than River's. Even Gallows had spent a long, long time without traveling further north than Megaton. "That's our _last_ safe haven, too," he added. "After that, we're thrust into the grinder. Further north is Germantown Police Headquarters, which super mutants frequent. We'll try to give it a wide berth eastward, close to a place called Minefield. It's either that or we trek close to Germantown HQ, which super mutants frequent."

Walking others through the approach to Oasis evoked hard memories. It took River back to the earliest days after his escape from Vault 101. Not more than an hour later, he was taken captive by raiders and dragged to Springvale Elementary School, where they guided him through a bloody crash course on wasteland anarchy. The only reason he wasn't immediately tortured to death was because one of the men took a liking to him, a raider who called himself Sunshine.

River cringed some nights when he remembered the deliria of Sunshine's execution. A part of him had been glad to see the rapist killed by his fellow raiders before he added another victim to the list and another was terrified that there was nothing stopping them from amputating his limbs one by one before hanging him from a hook suspended on the ceiling. He turned out to be wrong in the end. The real reason he was kept alive was because they wanted to get into Vault 101 using dynamite, which he had just emerged from.

He played the part for a while, concocting some elaborate explanation as to which area of the vault was the most vulnerable and bought enough time to find an opportunity to escape. That night he sprinted north, nearly running into the Vault 101 tunnel and pounding on the entrance in desperation, hoping someone would open it. Instead, he ran past it, fleeing from his captives, aware that nobody would have heeded his pleas. He passed by Germantown HQ, where he was harassed by hulking greenish-yellow humanoid brutes who threatened to devour him.

The escape's final stretch took him through a tight space between a water reservoir, which was inhabited by raiders and a network of houses resting atop a cliff, this one inhabited by more of those ferocious mutated humanoids. He got through but not without taking a bullet to the shoulder, a wound that eventually claimed his consciousness and delivered him to Oasis' doorstep.

Now, he was leading others through the very same path, and he knew that there was no easy way of reaching their destination. One way or another, they would be forced to trek through enemy territory. Currently, he kept it between raiders, mines and super mutants but he had the option of replacing raiders with deathclaws if they floated closer to Old Olney, something he wasn't keen on doing.

"Besides, Minefield's benign these days. We'll get through there safely. Here's where it gets interesting though. After Minefield, there's no place to set up that offers cover the way Meresti and the Mart earlier will and we'll have to make a choice. We head northwest on a soft slant and we run right into a cliff side community filled with super mutants, which we'll have to exterminate to get past or we go northwest on a harder slant. The second option will deliver us to Oasis later than it would if we go through the mutants but we'll have to deal with raiders instead. Another option is to try and slip by unnoticed _between_ both communities, but we'd risk attack from both of them that way."

As River spoke, able to offer up more detailed elaborations on the trip that he had planned than Sarah could, she eventually answered, "My inclination is to slant hard and hit the raiders. You said the super mutants are on a cliff. That gives them the high ground so we'd be at a disadvantage."

"Agreed, ma'am," Paladin Glade concurred. As Sarah looked around, she saw Dusk and Kodiak nodding as well. Gallows' silence was, in and of itself, a gesture of approval as well.

"Once we get through that, Oasis is a stone's throw away," River assured. Everyone was quiet for a while and it didn't end until Paladin Glade spoke, "Oasis?"

"You ever hear Three Dog talking about a place with lots of trees on Galaxy News Radio? That would be Oasis," River assured. "It's real." Paladin Glade's eyebrows rose but because he was wearing his helmet, River had to go by his enduring silence to pinpoint what was going through his mind. In the end, he wasn't certain if the quiescence was because of disbelief or if it was because of bewilderment.

"That's right people, we're heading for Oasis," Sarah spoke, her voice commanding. "Our charges are setting up a garrison there because we've learned that Talon Company is searching for it. Knight Osage believes Oasis is as important to the Capital Wasteland as the Purifier is. Get your stuff ready but don't carry too much. Pack brahmin will carry as much extra ammo and weapons as Knight Captain Durga can give us. Dismissed."

Everyone stood and began siphoning out of the room, including River.

"I expect you to have reported to me by nineteen hundred hours, Osage."

He turned around before he left and smiled gently, "Yes ma'am."

"What are you smiling about?" she asked, her tone softer now. "Don't start making assumptions. I just have some things to talk to you about." The commanding tone was absent now, replaced with something more playful.

" _Conversation_ can be a pleasant pastime, Sentinel Lyons. I look forward to engaging you in a fervent session tonight."

Sarah's brows contorted, her lips moving into a crooked grin as he walked away.

* * *

By seven in the evening, River and Sarah found themselves in similar conditions to the night before. River lay in bed while she lay there as well, halfway atop him, most of their clothes off. The only difference was that as of yet they had only teased carnality. She had carried something into bed moments earlier but he hadn't obtained a glimpse of it quite yet. For one reason or another, she placed it beneath her thigh where he couldn't see it.

She kissed his cheek and he hers, his hands venturing about her body until suddenly, she dropped her weight on him, uninterested in hovering over him any longer because of how tiring it could be. That was when she felt something slipping out from beneath her. Her eyes went wide when she realized that River had taken the book and was bringing it to the light, where he'd be able to see it perfectly. _The Wasteland Survival Guide,_ the title read.

"Just wanted to ask some questions about your involvement," she admitted.

"We're going to be playing this game of twenty questions for a long time."

Sarah was glad to see that there was no exasperation in his voice.

"I can't help if I want to know everything there is to know. There's mention of Minefield and the Super Duper mart there. Funny we'll be visiting those places on our next mission. How dangerous was all of this?"

"Before I start, let me just say that naivete can be a powerful thing. The Wasteland Survival Guide strikes me as something I wouldn't have bothered to do at _this_ stage in my life. Back then though, I couldn't resist helping Moira. I'm glad I went through with it even if it almost killed me a few times."

"What convinced her she wanted to write something like this?"

"Everyone's obsessed with putting the world back the way it used to be. Enclave used that propaganda the best, saying they were the remnants of the United States government and that they would bring back baseball, order, all of that. Moira believed the world would never be the same again, no matter what. The Wasteland Survival Guide wasn't like another one of those ideas out there promising to bring us closer to the way of the old world. It accepted the _now_ and informed people of how to survive in it."

As River's dialogue came to an end, he opened the book and flipped pages until the very last one, where Moira had added one final goodbye to the readers, something River himself had prompted her to do. He held it open for Sarah before he handed it back to her, "Hear it in her words." The way he asked her to look, with such warm affection, gave her insight as to just how much he liked the woman who had written the guide.

Sarah sat up on the bed and took the book, peering into the words on the last page and read them aloud, "Did you ever try to put a broken piece of glass back together? Even if the pieces fit, you can't make it whole again the way it was. But if you're clever, you can still use the pieces to make other useful things. Maybe even something wonderful, like a mosaic. Well, the world broke just like glass. And everyone's trying to put it back together like it was, but it'll never come together in the same way _."_

River watched her expression intently, and watching Moira's words paint an altogether different landscape across the scope of her mind the same way they did to him resulted in a satisfied smile.

"There really are wonderful people in the Capital Wasteland," River offered. "I know," he assured, brushing his hand across Sarah's cheek. "I've met some of them. Elder Lyons . . . Sentinel Lyons."

Though Sarah's chest tingled, flattered to no end by his words, she pressed her lips together in disapproval and spoke, "This is something I could never come up with." Motioning to Moira's passage, she made clear what she was referring to. "My father maybe, but me?"

River's hand shifted towards the back of her head now, where his fingers slid into her hair and massaged, "Words aren't the only thing that can make people wonderful. Contributions range wildly in nature."

Sarah gradually settled, her chin resting on his chest while his quiet, soft baritone seeped into her ears. Hearing him talk was almost entrancing; it reminded her of the days her father told her stories about his youth when she was younger, sweeping her off into some wondrous faraway world.

"I've been in the archives. Seen what you've done for the Capital Wasteland."

The light in Sarah's eyes changed then. He could see as it dimmed, and her arms wrapped around his torso, holding tightly for support against an unseen calamity.

"When I first heard you and other Brotherhood soldiers mention keeping the super mutants at bay, stopping them from overrunning the Capital Wasteland, they were just words. Then I took a deeper look and now I know the extent of it. What you did, what you _sacrificed_ . . . You're Sentinel not just because you're your father's daughter, but because you've done so much. All the things we've done now wouldn't have been possible if the Brotherhood failed to keep the mutants in check."

Her eyes came to a slow close but her lids didn't offer complete darkness. With her vision no longer preoccupied with present images, she flashed back to the days when the fighting was the fiercest, during the battle for the mall. In those times, there was no Lyons Pride and no Sentinel Lyons, just a young Knight doing what she could to honor her family name.

"The battle of the Mall Metro, the battle for the Washington Monument . . . Till Street."

He searched for her eyes after mentioning that last conflict. The archives revealed that Sarah's involvement at Till street was ultimately what awarded her the position of Sentinel. At that point, she didn't seem capable of prying herself from his chest, her eyes buried into his skin. Though he wasn't gladdened in any way whatsoever to see her this way, there was something about her vulnerability that he found beautiful. It gave him a different perspective of her.

"Sorry, I shouldn't have brought that up."

Finally, she moved, shaking her head and turning so that her cheek was on his chest.

"It's okay. I've had enough time to get over it."

River rubbed the side of her head now, each stroke of his hand helping her reach a more peaceful state. Though she wasn't lying when she said there had been enough time to get over the battle for Till Street, she often recounted it in her head. This gradually became one of those times.

With an exhalation, she started, "The fighting at the mall was fierce. Our garrison in the Washington Monument was faltering and a behemoth was close to ripping open a new path for mutant reinforcements to flood in. Knowing they would overrun us, thirty nine of us were sent to Till Street to hold back the mutant tide and find a way to plug the hole again. Fubar from the start . . . No defensible positions. No cover . . . "

Another sigh and she shook her head, "Eleven died dealing with the behemoth. I lost count how many died when after that. Our explosives teams were wiped out and wave after wave scattered our forces. Eventually those of us left alive were just doing what we could, working pretty much independently, trying to put the pieces of the operation back together."

As she plunged herself into those memories, even River's loving hands, still caressing her head, became a thing relegated to the far background. She thought she could still remember every inch of that chaotic battlefield, and it dominated her senses to the point nothing else was audible to her.

"I fought my way to the remains of our demolition crews, first Paladin Harland's team and then Paladin Janus' team. I set off both of the charges and collapsed two buildings to plug the leak again, stopping any more of them from coming through. Thirty nine of us and I'm the only one who came back. I don't even know when throughout that whole ordeal I officially became the last survivor. Were they all dead by the time I reached the first demolition team? The second? Or did they die when I set off the charges?"

Thoughts of burying her own brothers, some of which she knew personally, under tons of rubble were what damaged her the most. She spent sleepless nights trying to figure it out, other times wondering if she could ask her father to dispatch a search team to dig out the corpses but she never did. Now she was haunted by the possibility that her brothers and sisters in arms still lay buried there under all that rubble, never to receive a proper funeral. Her father said they had been properly honored, but she surmised it was just a way to help her cope.

River, meanwhile, didn't answer what he deemed were rhetorical questions.

With another breath, this one filled with finality, she uttered, "But it wasn't my doing. It was the super mutants."

As she felt his arms wrapping around her tightly, her eyes scrunched up, lips parting to show a glimpse of her teeth before tears rolled down her cheek and onto River's skin. She didn't pout or sniff, but she cried all the same.

If not for Knight Lyons on that fateful day, there never would have been a Galaxy News Radio. Super mutants would have decimated the Brotherhood contingent in the mall and the loss may have been enough to steer the Brotherhood away from the Capital Wasteland, leaving the mutated savages to infest the whole of the state like maggots in a rotting corpse.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** So I thought I'd give out some details on the state of the Capital Wasteland up until this point. Way I see it, most of the side quests that the Lone Wanderer embarks upon in Fallout 3 would have taken a back seat to the main quest line. That means there's still a lot left to be done after the Purifier was activated and the Enclave was destroyed. The Antagonizer and the Mechanist are still going at it in Canterbury Commons, Harkness has no idea he's a cyborg, Dave just won reelection by landslide, etc.

Furthermore, you'll also notice that I'm buffing some of the locations. In the game, the Lone Wanderer can wander on in to Paradise Falls and kill all the slavers singlehandedly. Not in my story. Here, he had to dress like a businessman and infiltrate under a disguise. Instead of killing everyone to free the Little Lamplighters, he used trickery and barely escaped with his life doing so. He's no pushover, as you'll find out as the story progresses, but there are definitely some things he can't do.

Another thing that I'm taking into account is the general "not-to-scale" rule of the Fallout games. If I recall correctly, the creators made it clear in one of the Fallout bibles that the locations encountered in the games are not to scale. For example, you see somewhere between fifteen to twenty characters in Vault 101 in the game but in reality, those things could house a thousand people at a time, meaning that there are possibly hundreds of Talon Company mercs at Fort Bannister. The same can be said of Paradise Falls.

I'm also omitting some content from the game, Mothership Zeta and the existence of aliens being the most prominent. I love the DLC, don't get me wrong, and it would have offered some interesting plotlines, but I thought it was a little too overboard for the story I'm going for here. I will regret not writing out a scene where River offers Rothchild an alien power cell and then takes a look at where that moves the Brotherhood.

Another thing I'll also be trying to do is make this a story both friendly to people who have played Fallout and those who haven't without boring those who know a lot about the lore and don't need history lessons.

If any of you have other questions you'd like to have answered concerning the status of the Capital Wasteland and its denizens as it exists during this story, feel free to ask through reviews or personal messages. I'd actually have a ton of fun answering those. Be warned though, there are some questions I might not answer to preserve the story, and not spoil anything.

So far I have one review, a few favs and follows, which I'd like to offer my thanks for. Glad you're all enjoying my story and I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint!


	4. Chapter 4

About a half hour before dawn, with the sun just beginning its ascent into the sky from the east, the group assembled in the courtyard where Paladin Gunny trained the initiates. The members of the Lyons Pride were the first to arrive and shortly after that, Paladins and Knights alike siphoned into the area, members of the future garrison of Oasis.

Eventually, one of the groups that approached had among it a man in his early thirties, wearing power armor without the helmet. His dark hair was short, down to a light buzz and his skin tone was tan, eyes as dark as his hair. There was a quiet, thoughtful nature in him, not unalike from River.

Paladin Glade recognized him instantly, commenting loud enough to be heard by the rest of the Pride.

"That's Scribe Townsend."

Sarah stepped forth, a laser rifle held snug in her arms, eyes peering into the expression on the Scribe's face and assessing how he looked in power armor.

"He looks surprisingly comfortable in it," she concluded. "I'm glad they picked out one of the more robust scribes to tag along."

Though Scribes, a less combat oriented sect of the Brotherhood of Steel, were given basic training and weapons training, many of them often slowed down in terms of combat capabilities over time. Scribe Townsend looked as if he had just gotten a refresher course on combat training as he stepped out, and she was glad to see it.

"Sentinel Lyons," he greeted first, "It will be an honor to work with you. Our group will be more at ease knowing that your Pride will be escorting us to Oasis."

"I apologize, this is the first time I speak to you directly but I've heard about your work. It's a pleasure to meet you personally. You picked power armor over the robes, a commendable choice."

"It made sense," Scribe Townsend responded. His voice was smooth, different from most Brotherhood soldiers. The only soldier she knew with a voice like that was Gallows, but his was still differentiated by a subtle, dangerous tone.

"What's our itinerary?"

As Sarah and Scribe Townsend came together to discuss the routes they were taking, River turned and glanced around. The sun had only recently cut a path through the darkness of the night so there was still dampness in the air that hadn't evaporated away. The morning air was still nice and cool, and it would stay that way for a while considering their path carried them alongside the Potomac for a few miles.

"Knight Osage? I am Knight Vasquez. It is an honor to meet you."

Turning his head, he caught a glimpse of a Knight in full power armor. The only way he could tell it was a woman who had greeted him was through her voice, even if it did sound different coming through him from under her helmet. He reached out and shook her hand before watching her walk away.

"Well if it isn't the mungo of mungos," he heard next. Turning to his right, he found Sammy, the boy he saved from Paradise Falls glancing up towards him, owner of the voice that had just been heard. His brown hair was styled neatly and he wore the same comfortable clothing as the other children surrounding him, all of which were familiar to River because they were from Little Lamplight as well.

"Sammy," River responded, glancing around at the others. Joseph, Penny's brother, was the oldest of the group and because of it, the only one wearing something different. Unlike the rest, who wore white t shirts with those blue fatigues, he wore the recon armor. It was lighter than power armor and didn't operate with hydraulics.

"How are you all doing?"

"Better than you'll be doing in a few hours, mungo," Angela answered. "We're going to get a nice hot breakfast. What will _you_ be eating? Raw mole rat?" River's expression shifted softly and his response came fluidly, not forced, "Your siblings don't frequent the area we'll be traveling through, I'm afraid."

Angela's eyes flashed wide, gasping while most of the kids giggled. One of them even spoke aloud, "Haha. Good one." Once he looked, he found that it was Knock Knock who was commending him for a job well done on Angela, who had now scrunched up her lips and crossed her arms over her chest.

"So, where are you going?" Joseph asked. River answered as he reached out and rubbed Angela's hair into a disheveled state, "Oasis. You ever hear Three Dog talking about a place filled with lush green trees on the radio? It's real, and we think it might come under attack soon."

"No way," Joseph responded. "Steel be with you, Knight Osage."

River accepted the wish for safe passage with a firm downwards nod.

"Well everyone, we came to say hello and wish him a safe trip. We did, now we need to go get ourselves ready before training starts."

Following Joseph's leadership, the rest of the children fell in line as he began walking away. Each of them either waved him goodbye or said it, but Angela stopped, "Oh! If you can find me some hairstyling magazines while you're out there . . . will you bring them to me?"

"Sure thing," River responded, watching as she squealed and hurried off. Their exit brought along the advent of Elder Lyons, who approached him directly. "Knight Osage. I've come to wish the group safe passage. I'm aware that Sentinel Lyons can take care of herself but she's never been so far north. Please watch over her for me."

"Yes, Elder Lyons. I'll make sure she returns safely," he answered, bowing his head. By the time he leveled his gaze with the older male, his eyes almost widened to find that there was very little distance between them. River felt Elder Lyons' hands settle on his outer arms, leaning in to peer into his eyes, his expression serious and firm.

"She's very important to the future of the Brotherhood."

Feeling somewhat overwhelmed, all River could do was nod.

"And, if my sources are correct, to _you_ as well."

This time, River's expression did change. He looked into Elder Lyon's eyes with a more vibrant shine in his eyes and opened his mouth, taking some time to finally say what he wanted to, "I'm sorry. I should have told you."

The aging father waved his hand calmly and showed River something he had never seen the old man do before. His lips, surrounded by scruffy white whiskers all around, curled into a smile, "There's no need to apologize. Remember when you said that one day you would make me feel as though there was nothing more I could ask?"

"Yes, I mea-"

"I don't believe there's a single military achievement that would rival the happiness I would feel to see Sarah find true companionship. She'll need somebody to lean on when the time comes."

Again, the younger of the two opened up to speak and Elder Lyons cut him off, "I am dying, Knight Osage."

River's pupils dilated and his body froze at the same time.

"Her time to take up the mantle draws nearer than she knows."

"What's wrong with you, Eld-"

"Promise me you will be there for her." In response to River's silence, the Elder's voice grew more severe, but never loud, "Promise me."

"I . . . I promise."

"Thank you, _son_ ," he responded, lifting his hand to tap River on the side of his head. "Please, do not speak to her of this. I will tell her myself upon her return."

"Elder Lyons, you didn't need to wake up so early."

The older gentleman's eyes shifted from River's face to look in the direction of the voice that called to him, belonging to his daughter.

"Nonsense," he retorted, "I was already awake. This really is no trouble. More a privilege, I would say."

While answering to her, Elder Lyons stepped past River and left him standing there quietly. He went on about wishing Sarah, her team, and the charges a safe trip as River turned in another direction and pulled his hood over his head. He approached the Citadel exit with his thoughts still swirling wildly.

* * *

The trek northward took them along the Potomac past two noteworthy locations. The first was an abandoned raider outpost built into a broken bridge column, its insides marked by dry, nearly black stains on the ground and walls, dried blood. Decapitated corpses hung suspended by hooks. It was as much a territorial marking as it was a form of identification. The raiders of the Capital Wasteland shared the hobby all throughout, and their homes were recognizable because of it.

A second location that they passed by was quaint, a vast difference distinguishing it from the first place they left behind. This was a seaside shack inhabited by a woman River seemed to call Grandma Sparkle, her husband and her son. A conversation was had between them and River before the team commenced ahead. It took a total of five hours before they could see the Super Duper Mart up ahead. Sarah turned to look at River instantly only to find him holding up his left arm, peering into his pip boy, a multi-functional computer strapped to his left arm that was widely known for its navigational functions. However, it also served as a Geiger counter and even as a wellness guide, offering information as to the wearer's health.

Sifting through his options on the device he eventually brought up the Super Duper Mart's local map, which was recorded the first time he ventured into it. That was when a foreign signal accessed his device and offered him information beyond the layout. In the furthest section of the store, there was one tick mark, sitting still.

River walked quicker then, making his way to the very front of the group, his eyes aligned with the mart up ahead and he didn't take his eyes off of it until he saw a blinking silver shine through one of the windows.

"What's that light?" Paladin Glade asked, carrying what was called a gatling laser. A hefty backpack, stuffed with ammunition, clung to his back while he held the weapon with both of his hands, the power armor doing most of the work to keep it aloft. It was a fearsome weapon that discharged a devastating stream of laser beams.

"That's my signal. Fawkes is in there, my mutant friend. He was watching over it for me."

River was the first to reach the entrance, and the moment he did, it began to open.

"Hold your fire, everyone," Sarah called out. "It's a friendly, no matter what you see."

When Fawkes stuck his head out to peer at the new arrivals, he could see as the Brotherhood soldiers flinched. After that one single involuntary twitch, they all went unmoving.

"River. You have. Arrived," the large humanoid beast confirmed. Fawkes, like his brethren super mutants, was tall. His whole body was thick with muscle and bone but also hairless, and his lips were stretched to the point his weathered teeth were perpetually bared. Those with a sharp eye for mutants, however, and that included the whole of the Lyons' Pride, could see that Fawkes' neck was riddled with veins. His shoulders had begun to bulge even further than typical super mutants, indicating that soon he would start to grow even taller.

It was widely known that super mutants grew more intelligent the older they became. However, there was a point in their lives when their minds stopped growing in exchange for mass. Their bodies stretched and stretched, pushing some of them to be over twenty five feet tall while at the same time, the transformation devoured their minds and left behind a nearly mindless creature. These were called behemoths, and their neural degeneration turned them into obedient attack dogs at best.

"He's gotten uglier," Paladin Glade quipped, his voice quiet enough to avoid being heard by River or the mutant itself. Dusk turned a helmeted glance at him, peering at him through her visor, "Show some respect. If not for him, Sentinel Lyons and LW would be dead."

He didn't respond to what she said. They all watched silently until River stepped in through the door and turned around, waving his hand for the rest of them to follow. Sarah stepped in first, looking around at the vast space lit by lights connected to fission batteries. River and Fawkes both waited by the entrance until they were all inside.

"Going to head to Megaton. I'll be back soon," River commented. Fawkes was apparently aware of the plan since before his arrival so when River left, he dutifully closed the door.

"Where's the LW going?" Paladin Kodiak asked. Other than Sarah Lyons, he was the only other member in the Lyons Pride who wore power armor without the helmet.

In response to his question, Sarah turned around just in time to watch him leave.

"He mentioned that he was going to go to Megaton once we got here to get some more supplies. Durga gave us only what she could so it won't hurt to have more."

The notion that he left without so much as saying goodbye seemed strange but she forgave him because he had at least mentioned that he would leave. Then again, he had been oddly silent and distant from her since they left the Citadel now that something prompted her to take a look back at their trek so far.

Once the group began to set up for the night, Fawkes approached Sarah Lyons. With all the hustle and bustle around her, she never noticed it until she saw that some of the people near her were throwing focused glances somewhere behind her. Wondering what had grasped their attention she turned and saw the civilized mutant stop one more pace away from her, holding a pip boy in her direction.

As well equipped as the Brotherhood was, pip boys were one piece of old world tech that eluded them. She only knew one person other than River in the possession of one, so when it was presented to her in such a way, there was much thought. She reached for it, taking it as Fawkes elaborated, "This will help keep you informed. Of our surroundings."

Fawkes' surprisingly well-developed speech garnered Scribe Townsend's attention. He watched the interaction with all the curiosity that had earned him a spot as one of the Brotherhood's scribes.

"I never knew pip boys could do that," Sarah said.

"They don't," Fawkes answered. "Only River's pip boys do that. He modified them. With special transmitters and receivers. In conjunction with what he calls _bugs_ , they not only. Give the wearer information. On the local layout. They can also alert them. As to the presence. Or lack thereof. Of any individuals. Detected by the. Aforementioned. _Bugs_."

If Scribe Townsend wasn't captivated by the mutant before, he certainly was now. He paid close mind to the brute's speech patterns. He pronounced the letter t firmly whereas most people passed it by almost silently. He also paused in the middle of sentences often because he worded each of his words with painstaking clarity. If he had to theorize why this was, he would say it was because the creature had reached a relatively mature mental state before picking up speech.

"Not bad," Dusk commented from somewhere in the background. "Now where's the lady's room?"

Turning, Fawkes pointed her in the right direction and Dusk headed off while Sarah looked into the device. Sure enough, the pip boy offered her an image of the mart's layout and further beyond its walls, too. The tick marks inside the mart intermingled often but the world outside of them was satisfyingly desolate.

"You don't have to mind it. All the time. It will vibrate. When something new enters. The scope of detection."

"Are there any extra bugs lying around that I can take a look at?"

Townsend approached Fawkes as he posed the question. His interest had always lain in medical practices but he had often dabbled in technology, and knew enough to figure out how most systems worked. He was by no means an inventor of technologies, or an engineer at that, but he believed himself to be familiar enough with technology to learn something from River's improvised tech.

"Yes," Fawkes answered. "Follow. Me."

* * *

Once everyone had settled into their temporary bastion, Sarah had the time to take a look around. She watched her charges interacting with one another, almost carefree. River's detection and warning system made things especially easy for the group. Because the pip boy would vibrate to alert her of approaching dangers, everyone would be able to get some sleep that night without appointing sentries. That meant everyone would have rested the same amount of time when they woke up tomorrow and continued.

Scribe Townsend was studying the device that Fawkes had given him. The simplicity of it was astounding. The major components appeared to be a sensor module that was taken from a protectron, security robots that were given especially capable surveillance capabilities, a transmitter, a micro fusion cell, and miscellaneous pieces of electronics like conductive wires and the like.

"This is brilliant," Townsend claimed, smiling all the while.

Fawkes echoed something he had heard from River, "I was told. That necessity. Is the mother. Of invention."

"There's nothing truer than that," the delighted scribe responded, handing the device back to Fawkes, who took it carefully and stuffed it in a brown cloth bag. "River. Travels by himself. Most of the time. For that. He must compensate."

A few of the other Brotherhood members could be seen paying mind to the mutant and Scribe Townsend. That included Paladin Glade, who rarely ever failed to plug in his own commentary, "Gallows doesn't need little trinkets like that to get around safe when he's alone." His attention dislodged itself from Fawkes at about the same time he began to speak. However, when his attention landed on Gallows himself, searching for some kind of response, the man moved his attention in another direction and said nothing.

"I've been meaning to speak to the Lone Wanderer about this but he hasn't exactly given me the opportunity. Have you met Harold, Fawkes?"

There was something about Scribe Townsend's initiative when speaking to the super mutant all of a sudden that the rest of the group found quite jolting. For twenty years, they all spent their time either bad mouthing the creatures and coming up with new ways to kill them. Now they were sharing the same shelter, talking to one and, from the looks of it, going as far as _enjoying its company._

"Yes. I have. Harold is. A kind. Heart."

"I was told that he comes from out west."

"Yes. Out west. Is where Harold. Had his accident. It was at Mariposa. Military. Base. He fell into a pool. Of Forced. Evolutionary. Virus. If my. Theories. Are correct."

Hearing _Mariposa Military Base_ caused all the Brotherhood members close enough to Townsend and Fawkes to perk up. They all paid attention to the conversation suddenly like canines who heard a curious sound somewhere far off in the distance.

"Mariposa Military Base? Shit. We know about that place. It was Enclave territory," Townsend elaborated.

"That explains. A lot," Fawkes responded, his voice suddenly tinged by regret. "It is my belief. That Vault 87. The origin of all super mutants. Was supplied with forced. Evolutionary. Virus. By the Enclave."

"The forced evolutionary virus has a long history."

"A painful. History."

Townsend drew in a deep breath and found himself staring at Fawkes facial expression. Though it had been irreversibly twisted by the FEV, he thought he could see some amount of pain there. A very human pain.

"Agreed," Townsend responded, shortly before bursting into soft laughter.

"What. Is funny?"

"Well, you see, Roger Maxson, the founder of the Brotherhood, went on to create our organization after coming across some scientists that were running gruesome experiments with FEV. His position as _leader_ wasn't solidified until he made his decisions concerning that scientific facility. Violent decisions. If he hadn't become leader, our organization might not have been born."

There was a funny, distant little smile on Townsend's face during a small pause in his dialogue. Then he continued.

"You can say the FEV catalyzed the birth of the Brotherhood. In other words, both the Brotherhood _and_ the super mutants were born of it. Partly. If the Enclave created the FEV, which they most likely did, then they can be credited for the birth of the organization that kicked their asses up and down, left and right all over the Capital Wasteland. The _sheer irony_ of that . . ."

"Hmph," Fawkes responded, his lips curling into the most unbecoming of subtle smiles. "You. Are right."

Then, Townsend sat there, his fingers intertwining before him, marveling at the beauty of conversation and the way it could shed all manner of lights on reality.

"The Enclave. Created the super. Mutants. And it. Also created. The group who. Stopped them. From overrunning . The Capital. Wasteland."

"Get a load of them," Paladin Glade quipped, pointing his thumb at them while he turned a glance to Dusk, who appeared as engaged in the conversation as she was when she was hunting a target with her scope. The way she ignored him disarmed him in the end, and he turned to look at both of the conversationalists again.

Townsend and Fawkes started laughing together after that.

Sarah was just as captivated as her team members when the pip boy began to vibrate. Without even taking a look, she called out to everyone.

"Look alive, people. We have company."

Fawkes turned his head to her while everyone took up arms and stood from their positions. Some of them immediately jogged off to their designated defensive positions.

"Mind. The tick. Sentinel. Lyons," Fawkes proposed. "If it blinks. On approach. It is. River."

She took a look and sure enough, it was him.

* * *

Upon his return, River brought another pack brahmin. In the old world, these creatures were called cows, but the title had changed, most likely in regards to the mutations these creatures had gone through from then to now. They were still large, powerful creatures but they were hairless, and their most distinguishing feature was that they had two heads for one body.

"Welcome back," Sarah said, watching as he circled the beast and unpacked some of its cargo. In one swift motion, he tossed a leather roll on the ground so that it would expand flat on the surface, revealing all manner of weapons in impressive condition, held down by leather straps.

"Oh fuck!" Dusk's voice echoed through the mart. "Is that what I think it is!?"

She jogged up to the weapons and knelt down, removing her helmet as if it would somehow hamper her ability to see and flashed her eyes wide as she surveyed a long rifle. "This . . . this is a fucking _GAUSS RIFLE!"_

The gauss rifle was a monstrous weapon, conceived close to when nuclear war took place. It used the principals of a rail gun to operate, employing magnetism to spew projectiles with alarming speed. Its destructive capabilities were almost unmatched in the world of sniper rifles.

River, in response to her excitement, answered quietly and softly, "I'm guessing that means it's yours . . . "

"Is that even a fucking question!?"

She reached for it and pulled it from its hold, holding it up to the light where her eyes could peruse every minute detail of the weapon that she found beautiful, which meant _all of it_.

"I prefer the more mundane types when it comes to sniper rifles. It fires only one shot per microfusion cell."

"Oh that's because you just don't know how to use it."

Dusk glanced at him with a crooked grin, holding it in her arms as if she had been born with the thing in her hands.

"It's yours."

At that point, Dusk's excitement overwhelmed her, sending her on a beeline path straight towards him before putting the gauss rifle down and throwing her arms around the back of his neck, hugging tightly and twisting her body left and right. Beneath the helmet, Paladin Glade's eyes narrowed, his lips shifting into a sneer.

River had no idea how to respond. First his hands were away, unsure of if whether he should return the hug. Eventually, he responded to the appreciation with a few pats on her armored back.

"Easy now . . . " Sarah urged with an almost imperceptible whisper.

"Ohhh you relax," Dusk responded, turning to look Sentinel Lyons in the eyes with a smile on her lips. "I am going to kill sooooo many things with this rifle. You're hardly going to have to do any work!"

Dusk moved off, taking the gauss rifle with her, "Wish Colvin was around to see _this._ He would have fought me tooth and nail for the thing but . . . would have had fun competing with him for it."

Dusk and Colvin's relationship had always been a complicated matter. Both of them were snipers and as far as she was concerned, he was a misogynist prick. Though she often believed his attitude was an acidic notion to have in the Brotherhood, she credited him for her growth. If he hadn't been there to push her, she never would have become as good at the art of long distance destruction as she had.

Sarah and River each stood by as the soldiers approached, perusing the weaponry that had been brought to them. Even Gallows hovered over the leather roll, his attention gathered mostly by a plasma pistol in pristine condition. In terms of rifles, he preferred the laser variant for its lightning quick, and scalpel like accuracy. As a side arm, however, he thought the plasma pistol, which fired a slower payload but packed a heavier punch, served him better. He removed it from its leather prison and courteously slid his laser pistol into where it had once been.

It didn't need to be said, but the Lyons Pride appeared to get first dibs. It wasn't until they were gone that other members got comfortable, one of them taking a gatling laser for himself that he was astounded to have acquired before anybody else. Paladin Vasquez managed to get her hands on a plasma rifle before moving along.

"How much ammo is there?" Sarah inquired, glancing at River.

"Enough for them to garrison comfortably at Oasis for a long while. "

"Good."

* * *

Sarah was initially displeased with the fact that they stopped the day before only five hours into their trek. She was sure they could have continued for another four, but the sentiment was assuaged by the gift that River brought them from Megaton.

Fortunately, sleep had a way of speeding life up. Dawn was upon them and they had all assembled in front of the Super Duper Mart again, a pip boy now on her left arm. River urged her to keep it the night before, which she was thankful for. She knew she could put it to good use, especially considering that their main priority now was going from one location to the other. Though it didn't make contact with her skin, which meant it wouldn't serve her as a health tool, it still provided a map and other useful tools.

Apparently, he had transferred all the data from his pip boy into hers, giving insight as to the vast area River had traveled. Apparently, he had gone beyond the Capital Wasteland, off to Pittsburgh. He had even been to Maryland.

In the distance, she spied Scribe Townsend sharing goodbyes with the mutant.

"I hope to see you again some time, my friend," Townsend said.

"Like. Wise," Fawkes answered, reaching out for the man's outstretched hand and shaking it. Once Townsend turned and headed off, River stood there watching Fawkes.

"I see you made some friends."

"Indeed."

There was a pause between the two until River moved in close and put one arm around the super mutant's broad waist. The other reached up behind his neck, urging him down until his fingers settled on the back of Fawkes head.

"Good luck, my friend," he said, though it was closer to a supplication. He pressed the side of his head against the super mutant's, who reached around River and returned the hug.

"I hope to see you again, still yourself, you hear me?"

"I will. Do my best."

"Alright."

"If all goes well. I will come. Find you. And our travels. Together. May continue."

"I look forward to it."

With a firm pat on Fawkes back, River let go and turned, heading away while the mutant straightened out and looked to the large group. He exchanged gazes with Sarah, offering a nod and then turned around, heading off in the direction of the Citadel.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note:** I'm sure you're wondering why the same chapter was published twice. The reason why is that I felt the third portion of chapter five didn't quite fit with the theme I was going for, mostly because I rushed with the chapter somewhat. Because of that I rewrote that piece. Those of you who have read chapter five don't have to read the first two portions of this chapter, only the third one, as it's the only one that has changed.

* * *

The northbound trek eventually took them through Springvale. For River, it was a loathsome place because of the memories it brought back in stunning clarity. He did find solace in the silence rampant all throughout, however. Even the local elementary school, an ugly square building with a bleak gray coloration that was close to the southern outskirts of the town, was quiet. Its unruly former inhabitants were specks of ash carried away by the wind in the wake of a dead fire, long gone. All they left behind that was worthy of note was blood on River's hands.

Traveling through this desolate world was often similar from person to person. During times of widespread civilization, in other words before the Great War that enveloped the world in nuclear fire, the denizens of this country preoccupied themselves with assessments of what activities were available to them and what the climate was like whenever they visited new locales. Now they looked at towns like Springvale and noticed that it had been fortunate enough not to have been hit by a direct nuclear strike, likely due to a combination of strategic insignificance and because of a small population. Climate remained an interest but it had less to do with sun or rain and more with radiation and local population.

That was how everyone in the group crossed through this town, minding their surroundings for dangers while piecing together the history of this place with the subtle clues that were left behind. Paladin Kodiak walked close to the water tower in the town, still on its feet and firm, and noticed that it had gone completely dry. A water tower wasn't something that would have been left in peace during times of desperation, when supplies ran scarce. The bullet marks he saw all around it could have been placed there when a battle was waged for its lordship.

Sarah had already noticed the telltale signs saying that raiders had once frequented this place. Off in the distance, through one of the windows of the school, hung a beheaded skeleton from what looked like a rusty metallic hook. Eventually, she even noticed signs that someone other than them may have come by recently when she spied an empty bottle of Nuka Cola on the ground, a drop or two still moist within the tube, as if it had only recently been abandoned. In response, she called to her group and urged them to be vigilant.

The only person who saw things differently was River because he had spun this place around and turned it upside down figuring it out. He walked through it with a learned outlook, the kind of understanding a man or woman of this wasteland obtains when _enough_ information about a place has been decoded and there's no longer a need to keep turning over every little pebble to see what's underneath.

He had an idea of what this place had been to the people of the old world and what it had been to the people of the new one. It had taught him the brutality of the wasteland with one well-placed punch across the jaw. The first time he was here he was forced to watch a man his age have his eyes scooped from their sockets, dismembered piece by piece, decapitated and then hung on the wall like a painting or a portrait. He shrieked every inch of the way until his head came off and rolled on the ground.

Sufficiently educated, River paid very little mind to the details everyone else did. All he tried to pick up were the changes, the _new_ things that might indicate that there may be some brand new danger he didn't know about, of which there were none. When Sarah pointed out the Nuka Cola bottle, River stopped and picked it up, tossing it off towards one of the houses. "This is Silver's," he eased.

"Copy that," Sarah responded. She had been told about a woman living in the town and she relayed the information to the rest of the group as well. She had guessed it might have been hers but she hadn't survived this long without unfaltering caution.

The next location of interest that they passed was a lonely, dusty wooden door built into a cliff side. While nobody knew of River's past with the town of Springvale, the exact opposite was true about this place. This was the entrance to vault 101, the underground bunker from which the Lone Wanderer of the Capital Wasteland emerged in search of his father, and everyone in the group knew that this was it. From behind that door, it was truly an underwhelming image.

It had been over six months since he returned there, having answered a call for help via radio broadcast from Amata, his childhood friend. It wasn't until now when he was actively attempting to keep his gaze away from the entrance to his old home that he realized something. When he told Sarah he understood why he was asked to leave, he had been trying to convince _himself_ , not her.

By the time he decided to bring up the pip boy to his eyes so that he could peruse for broadcasts coming from the vault, he still hadn't decided if it was out of some sense of duty or if it was because he longed for an opportunity to earn being welcomed back by Amata and the rest of them. When he switched the vault broadcast on, he heard only a torturous silence, one that he had heard plenty of times now. When he saw that there was nothing, he lowered his hand again and looked ahead, pained that perhaps it was true that they would never need him again.

Meanwhile, Sarah's gait slowed as she brought her own pip boy up to look through it. Glade was the first to notice it, stopping to look and ask, "What is it, Sentinel?"

"I'm picking up a broadcast from the vault, it seems."

River turned and walked straight towards her with a swift stride, imagining that it was possible the antenna on his device was malfunctioning.

"Let me see," River urged, reaching for Sarah's arm and placing it so that he could see into her device. Sarah even flinched at his sudden proximity.

There was sharp focus in his eyes but they went soft when he heard the same static.

Exhaling, he explained, "No, the pip boy alerts you of new broadcast signals when you haven't tuned into them before, that's all."

Sarah kept her arm elevated for a moment or two and slowly mounted her gaze onto him that settled like a bag of sand.

"I see."

* * *

In his office, all Daniel Littlehorn could hear were the sounds of paperwork going through its various phases. Pencils scribbling, paper stacks being straightened out with a few smacks against a level surface, and even the clicking of staplers comprised the majority of it all. This was just how he liked things to be; nothing but an enduring peaceful environment in which he and his employees could work without being distracted.

The favorite of his office employees was Ava, a magnificent blonde with a full body all around. The only thing that matched the excellent curvature created by the proportions of her breasts, waist and thighs were her work habits. She labored with a ferocious efficiency, speaking only when it was absolutely necessary. She also wasn't clumsy. He couldn't even remember the last time she dropped something or even sneezed.

The other three were diligent as well, knew how to follow the rules or else they wouldn't be here, but he could tell they resisted the atmosphere to some degree. Jasper, the only male secretary working for him, _reveled_ in his opportunities to step outside to smoke a cigarette while Ava didn't even seem to need a mental break from the office anymore.

Nevertheless, Daniel was content with his staff. Though he wished they were all like his favorite, he thought he was as close to it as he would ever get.

Daniel himself was an aging gentleman in his early seventies, his face wrinkled like a balled paper bag. He had long ago lost his hair and never quite fostered the patience to maintain a bald head all around. Wispy strands of cotton-white hair protruded only from the sides of his head and the rear, his pate the only area stricken by baldness. The age that traveled to his throat softened the flesh there, making it sag.

Regardless of his decrepit physical state, he appeared quite sharp in a surprisingly well fitting suit. It was cleaner than most of the clothes still lingering around from the old world days, waiting to be scavenged.

The door to his office opened and none of the secretaries threw a glance its way. Only Daniel took a look, watching as a man in black combat armor stepped in, the mark of a hawk's talon on the left pectoral of his protective vest. He was tall, six feet six inches with a wiry build. His black hair was short around the side and thicker up top, combed into a sophisticated style that made him appear professional. His green eyes were like voids no matter where they looked and holstered on his back was a peculiar three-pronged plasma rifle.

If Ava was Daniel's favorite _office_ employee, this man, Caliper, was his favorite _outside_ employee.

He was nothing like his Talon Company counterparts who knew so very little beyond spewing creative insults, strapping on combat armor, and pulling the trigger. Caliper could be trusted with murderous tasks just as well as with situations that required finesse, intelligence or even business acumen.

This particular masterpiece of an employee, alongside Ava, hadn't been chosen by Daniel. Those two points of pride were awarded to Mr. Burke, another man who Daniel once held in high esteem. His death in Megaton at the hands of the Lone Wanderer severed connections that Littlehorn and Associates would never recover due to his secretive nature. Whatever firms funded Mr. Burke's efforts were never mentioned. Not even Allistair Tenpenny, his closest associate, knew how exactly he did many of the things he did.

Caliper's arrival in Daniel's office prompted the aging businessman to sit straighter, forming a steeple before him atop the desk. Between them, there was no need for greetings or platitudes of any kind. The old man's eyes watched unblinkingly as the Talon Company mercenary approached and stood on the other side of the desk, apparently uninterested in taking a seat.

"Commander Jabsco has run his course."

In Daniel, there was no room for doubt when it involved Caliper. He had proven himself enough times for his opinion to be taken seriously whenever it was given voice to. His response was docile, mostly because Commander Jabsco's role had already been discussed and Caliper's conclusion was something he had foreseen. He simply moved and reached into his desk, flipping through pages in search of something.

Talon Company was a mercenary group; the largest one in the Capital Wasteland, perhaps even beyond that. They were particularly useful because they were businessmen at heart, never letting morality get between them and a comfortable living. Those were their rules. Nobody was allowed to sign up with the expectation of being an honest mercenary with a list of things they would or wouldn't do. The reward was work, which members of the organization were _never_ in short supply of.

In Caliper's and Daniel's eyes, that created a work force comprised of men and women who retained a hold of their individuality. They worked for themselves instead of for the man or woman next to them, making them easier to employ. The only reason they ever worked together was to help ensure success, and it didn't hurt that every man or woman who died on the job left their share of the proceeds to the survivors.

Commander Jabsco started off that way once upon a time, performing such good work that he eventually made a name for himself among the other mercenaries. For years, Littlehorn and Associates profited from his charisma, which brought new recruits in by the handful. They watched how his supposed subordinates rallied around him over time at Fort Bannister, unknowingly forming a threat that only a person with a pair of piercing eyes would notice.

This group that had formed around him was unknowingly tilling the soil for a proper _community_ to sprout, and a communityis no longer a conjugation that retains an individualistic mode of operation. Sooner or later, they would start declining jobs for the well-being of their society and Littlehorn and Associates would lose their most valued work force.

Daniel found what he was looking for and slid the documents across his desk towards his visitor, who took them while he listened to an elaboration of what he was looking at, "These are records pertaining to ten jobs the Fort Bannister mercenaries have completed, including payment. It indicates that Commander Jabsco was involved in each and every one, which is a lie, and that he has been receiving unearned payments from the sweat of their brows without mention of it."

Next, he slid something else across the table, this paper a map with a marked location on it.

"This is the location where he has been hiding his wealth, which they are free to go search for. It will be burned to the ground prior to their arrival, the charred corpses of a woman and child from Paradise Falls inside. Here, take these new contracts as well."

"This will suffice," answered Caliper, taking the contracts into his hands.

Assurance that he had met Caliper's standards was all Daniel needed, or even wanted. Once that was said and the Talon Company mercenary turned and left, he shifted in his chair and settled back into his work, taking only a moment or two to begin right where he had left off.

* * *

Though nuclear war had been a lingering threat for decades before one took place, the ignorance towards it was surprising. People understood that bombs would fall indiscriminately in an attempt to eradicate the populace but it was more nuanced than that. The places that were targeted and hit the hardest were areas of strategic value. The minuteman ICBM military installations in the United States were the highest priorities but it cascaded down to smaller bases and included attacks on airports with runways long enough to put bombers in the skies.

Fort Bannister, being a military installation, suffered direct assault. It showed, too, with much of its infrastructure lain to waste. Nevertheless, it stood, if partially, and its underground bunker survived, still capable of housing a sizeable group of people over two hundred years later. Talon Company made great use of it, establishing a well defended camp that offered very real safety. Yet . . . it was abandoned.

Knight Artemis, a reliable soldier of the Brotherhood of Steel who had been in combative service for fifteen years, was sent to Fort Bannister to survey the territory in preparation for a possible assault. Though he often wore power armor during his missions, he exchanged it for what was known as recon armor. Originally, recon armor was little more than a protective suit soldiers wore beneath power armor to protect them from the various moving parts inside.

It fit over the body closely yet comfortably and offered formidable protection of its own. Its design was such an unintentional success that it was eventually adopted as the mainstay lighter armor for Brotherhood soldiers, its close-fitting nature suitable for reconnaissance details because it didn't make any noise at all, unlike power armor.

Because initiates were often seen wearing this suit during basic, it was widely looked upon in the same light as a pair of training wheels but there were people, Knight Artemis included, who used it to the effect of a unicycle. He made it clear that with _skill_ , it was a magnificent tool.

His thin eyebrows were as sharp as his blue eyes and his hair was hidden beneath a tight fitting hood made of protective metallic mesh. Unlike most of his brothers in arms, he didn't carry an energy weapon, opting for a scoped M4 that, despite being in weathered conditions, functioned admirably. A silencer attached to the barrel made it perfect for his current assignment.

Using that very weapon, he surveyed Fort Bannister from a distance and saw that there were no Talon Company mercenaries, or even robots, patrolling its outer fences. More curious was that he couldn't see signs of a recent battle. Talon Company weren't the heartfelt type as they often abandoned their dead to rot in the same spot they took their last breath. There wasn't a single dead mercenary left in such conditions inside the fort.

Could they have simply left? Why?

Fully aware that his orders weren't to infiltrate, only survey the surroundings, he lowered his weapon to chest level and stared off towards the fort. Though the thought that they might all be attending some kind of meeting in the underground bunker of the facility crossed his mind, he quickly decided that no matter what, they would never have left the perimeter so unprotected. Another concern was that even if they were gone, would they return?

In case they did, it was possible he could lock them out of the bunker before they entrenched themselves again. Decided, he straightened out and moved forth, stepping towards the fort with careful, quiet lethality.

Once he was inside and beyond the perimeter fences, the facts that he gathered earlier remained vivid. That there were no mercenary corpses outside continued to indicate that there hadn't been a battle. Then it hit him; maybe the story would change once he ventured below the surface.

After perusing through the Fort Bannister surface level, he found a total of three entrances. One appeared to be the main entry point, a doorway built into a wall built into the landscape, covered by large boulders. The other was a stairway path leading down into a lonely door. The only problem was that it was secure, and he wasn't keen on using explosives to blow open the lock.

The third entrance was more to his liking. It was a manhole hidden in the corner of one of the tents in the south eastern area of the Fort. Pulling the heavy circular metallic lid aside, he was glad to see it land on the sand, which allowed it to come away with a silent thud. With that gone, he peered into the pathway and saw the sturdy ladder leading down to the bottom.

Once inside, it didn't take him very long to find evidence of the fact that Talon Company had assuredly abandoned this place. At the bottom of the ladder, a sewage corridor awaited, but he found sand bags stacked high to offer cover from a defensive position accompanied by empty ammunition crates. Then, on the ceiling, there was the base of an automated turret, still embedded there as if the weapon itself had been dismounted and taken elsewhere.

It was interesting how resourceful Talon Company was sometimes. Then again, it was hard to put it past them to possess _some_ form of military competence. Those stacked sand bags were an example, after all. Such disciplines like that coupled with the installation and removal of formidable forms of technology like those automatic turrets was made possible by their sheer numbers. With so many of them, there was bound to be a few of them with special skills lurking in their ranks.

Further on inside, he saw that made this place desirable in the first place. Though its walls were weathered by time, there was very little rust, which ensured that this bunker wouldn't pose any lung related dangers any time soon. It was also sturdy and the corridors provided plenty of locations from which to defend. In its heyday, it may have provided a wealth of weaponry as well but unfortunately, it appeared to have been stripped bare by Talon Company. If there were any weapons left in the armory, they were low quality. Granted, he hadn't had enough time to confirm but he felt safe with his analysis and continued forth, weaving through the corridors with an unyielding, deadly caution.

His search culminated in the deepest level of the bunker. There was a sign next to the door that led into that area that read _Commander's Level,_ with the word commander crossed out by an ugly red _x_ and replaced by _Bagger's_. He guessed that the commander, now referred to as a _bagger,_ another word for _thief,_ had been murdered by his own people; presumably _burned_ _alive_ from the smell of it. Stepping through the open doorway, he confirmed it.

A man sat chained to a wall, his body limp and scorched black. Apparently, he had been wearing metal armor when someone doused him with a flame thrower, cooking him inside his own shell as if he were shellfish. The armor itself had survived the assault but the dry, cracking and blackened skin on his face was permanently contorted into an expression of desperate anguish, meaning everything beneath it hadn't been so lucky. This explained why Talon Company had abandoned Fort Bannister but it raised other questions.

If they didn't care so much about Fort Bannister and its missile silos, what were they after when they assaulted the super mutant garrison stationed in the Capitol Building?


	6. Chapter 6

The wasteland could be a quiet place. Smokes knew, after traveling through it extensively. Settling down in a raider encampment, however, changed that. As he sat there atop one of the tanks at the water reservoir, watching the sunset with a stale cigarette stuck between his blackened lips, he could hear his rambunctious group somewhere behind him yelling obscenities over a card game. A little further beyond, hidden amidst the loud celebrations, there was also the crescendo of a woman reaching euphoric climax.

He knew the voice anywhere. It belonged to Moneybags, a beautiful young woman in her early twenties with especially large breasts. The only thing she did more than have sex was indulge in chems, improvised wasteland drugs that had grown common over time. The first few years he spent traveling with this group of raiders, he wondered why it always seemed to be that the women did drugs the most, but now he knew the answer.

They needed more help throwing caution to the wind than the men did. It was an all too familiar fact that among raiding troupes, women would be ostracized and quite likely killed over time if they didn't offer themselves off to _someone_ in the group, if not to a few. Contraception wasn't in abundance anymore, either. It had been years since the last time he spied a Jimmy Hat, a popular brand of condoms from the old world. Getting one of these raiding bastards to pull out before they pump a girl full of juice was another story altogether.

He could also see why some of them didn't mind, however. Moneybags was almost like a celebrity among them, treated well by the whole group to such a degree that, thinking about it now, she hadn't been out on a raid for months with no signs of slowing down.

Smokes supposed that there were pros and cons for men just as there were for women. Moneybags had no choice but to offer up her body to the carnal needs of the others while he never worried about such a thing. At the same time, he would _never_ go so much as a month without accompanying the others on a raid.

With that thought in mind, he yanked the cigarette butt from his lips that burned him on the last tug and crushed it against the concrete floor beneath him, uttering under his breath, "Sometimes I wish I had a fuckin' pussy of my own."

Smokes was in his late twenties and the only reason he looked it was because smoking had been his passion since he was twelve years old. Any time other members of the group came upon some cigarettes, they knew there was business to be done with him. Otherwise, years of malnourishment left his body thin. The recesses of his eye sockets were prominent and his cheeks were sucked inward, his arms almost nothing but bone.

There was a small scar cutting a path into his head, meeting with his blonde hair buzzed short all around. The dirt and grime on his face made his icy blue eyes look dirty despite their intrinsically pristine hues. He was also one of the more practical raiding types, wearing armor that showed much less skin than the rest of the group. It had taken him hours upon hours to do but he had cut apart some tires and sewed the pieces into a protective vest. It had saved his life plenty of times, and even though he swore by it to the others, none listened. The ones that did were too lazy to finish the job, stopping once they could wrap a piece over at least one shoulder and move along.

Their behavior often disgusted him but at the same time, he frequently benefitted from their stupidity. On raids, they all bull rushed the front lines, yelling all the while. Doing so always made his approach much safer and if not that, their initial push was usually enough to find out if it was better to retreat or continue with the assault. There had even been times he made off with some bounty while the others were off getting slaughtered by some well-equipped wastelanders.

As he lit another cigarette and put it between his lips, dragging on it like it was a corpse with pockets overflowing with money, he concluded that regardless of how much being with these fools helped him, he would have to leave soon. There were multiple options. The first was to head back to Pittsburgh, where most of his brethren came from. Though Ashur, the man who once controlled that location with an iron fist, was dead, there were still surviving pockets of his people scattered throughout. All that stopped him was the plague that was rampant there, and the radiation.

 _Fuck that, I'm not headin' back there just to go trog,_ he often mused. Trogs were people who succumbed to the sickness of the Pitt, as the old city of Pittsburgh was now called. It turned them into vicious creatures devoid of their memories, intent on feeding on anything that wasn't one of them and nothing else.

Another option was to move onto a straighter path. The caravans were always looking for guards and he was confident he had the chops. He hadn't met anybody on his travels thus far who was smarter than he was, and he was sure he had the instincts for it. To stop people from being killed he thought that _being a killer_ himselfwas one hell of a qualification.

The final option that he had was detailed on a paper that he drew from a brown sack. It was a Talon Company contract that he had found on a dead mercenary a few months ago. The job called for the death of _Branchtender Osage_. Looking at it, it wasn't that particular job that interested him but a job as a Talon Company mercenary in general that did.

Those fools shared the same immoral thirst as the raiders he ran with but they weren't as stupid. That seemed like a winning combination, but he simply didn't know enough about them. He had heard about them battling the super mutants over in the Capitol Building over a year ago and he wasn't interested in being forced on an assault on those monstrosities. _Leave that to the Bruddahood,_ he always thought.

That was when an explosion rocked the encampment with enough force to send him tumbling off the empty water tank he was seated upon, cigarette flinging from his lips and lost to the force that impacted him. He landed on the ground, the back of his head smacking against the pavement while the tips of his shoes nearly struck the floor above each of his shoulders. When he turned onto his side and grabbed for the back of his head, immediately feeling the blood trickling past his fingers, he turned to look and saw a mushroom cloud climbing to the sky. It looked like what those old world cars were like when they blew, only it was right smack in the middle of their camp.

"What the _fuck_?" he cursed quietly. Next, he saw red lasers cutting through the air, occasionally accompanied by green projectiles. He was just beginning to stand up when a severed foot landed beside him. Pausing long enough to sneer in disgust, he pressed his hand against the ground and stood, looking forth again as one of the raiders, this one called Chugger, ran out from cover with his submachine gun trained outward. He didn't even have the chance to pull the trigger before a high pitched clap echoed through the whole water reservoir at the same exact moment that his head exploded.

That was when he knew that this was hopeless. So far, he was seeing a lot of energy weapons fire, which pumped him full of dread considering only the Brotherhood and the Enclave were known to use such things extensively. If it was either of those two groups, this was extermination and there was no use fighting back. His only chance was to escape.

Pushing himself up to his feet he ran in the direction where there was least noise and turned to glance behind over his shoulder, rounding a corner into cover. When he turned forth again, he felt a jolt as his heart skipped a beat, leaning back to stop his forward momentum as much as he could before pushing his hands up into the air in surrender, one of them still holding the Talon Company contract from earlier.

It only took him a second to recognize the vivid red hair, the brown vest with dry branches protruding from it, and the shadowed green eyes cutting holes through his skin and into his soul. This was the Lone Wanderer, the man the Capital Wasteland spoke about as if he was a legend.

By the time he hit the floor, his ass thudding as it made contact with the ground, he had lived long enough to wonder why he was still alive. When he first saw the Lone Wanderer, he caught a glimpse of something pointing at his chest; a gun. He wasn't sure what kind but a firearm nonetheless. Why hadn't he pulled the trigger yet?

"I surrender, man!" Smokes yelled, unwilling to do anything other than beg for his life at this point. "Please, don't kill me! I was just thinkin' about leavin' the life of a shithead behind, anyway!"

He flinched when the Lone Wanderer reached out with his free hand and yanked the paper out of his hand, reading it over without moving his weapon in another direction. That was when Smokes remembered the words on the contract and took a step back, panicked, "This ain't what it looks like!" The Lone Wanderer said nothing, only loosening his grip on the slip of paper, letting the wind sweep it away into the sky above them before lowering his hand again.

"I was just lookin' at it!"

The Lone Wanderer's silence endured, but the stoic expression on his face continued to make it abundantly clear that he wasn't convinced. Enough time went by for Smokes' panic to gradually turn into fury once the hopelessness of the situation crept in. It wasn't until now that he understood the irony of getting killed for being a raider _just_ at the exact same moment that he was considering not being one anymore.

He lowered his hands to his sides slowly, his chest expanding and deflating repeatedly until he furrowed his brows and yelled again, "Alright! I'll come clean, you mother fucker! So I was lookin' at the damn paper. Just lookin' for options! I'm tired of hangin' around with these idiots. They're too fuckin' stupid for my likin'."

He allowed another brief silence between them, mostly because he wanted to see if he hadn't warranted being cooked by what he could now see was some kind of modified laser rifle. Though the painful shrieks of his ilk still lingered in the background as they were being butchered by Sarah's forces, he couldn't hear a single thing beyond his own voice.

"I thought about fuckin' Talon Company but I know they can't be that much smarter than these other assholes if they're tryin' to off the Lone Wanderah. _You_ . . . so's I thought I could go sign up as a fuckin' caravan guard or somethin' instead. Or a town guard. In Megaton . . . or maybe Rivet City, if those fuckers will even let me in."

Between sentences, Smokes' breathing was extremely rapid, his chest rising and dropping repeatedly. All he found again was silence.

"So there! I told ya my fuckin' story! What are ya gonna do, shoot me!? If you're gonna do it, do it!"

Finally, the Lone Wanderer opened up his mouth to say something. Smokes was surprised just how soft spoken he was.

"You really do seem like you want to live . . . "

Despite the gentle speech, Smokes was surprised with just how much hatred emanated from those low vibrations.

"Like I said," he answered firmly, his breath still audible at the end of each sentence, "I was just thinkin' about leavin' the life behind. It's the most maddenin' shit to think I'ma bite the dust a day or two before I went through with it. Raiders get 'emselves killed doin' stupid shit and Talon Company's throwin' 'emselves at the damn super mutants so I wasn't joinin' them either."

Smokes watched as the Lone Wanderer tilted his head, and asked, "Are you sure you want a clean living?"

Smokes erupted this time, "What the fuck's it look like, jackass?! I'm standin' in front of the goddamn legendary Lone fuckin' Wanderer with some kinda laser rifle pointed at me and I'm dead either way ya slice it! This the exact type o' shit I wanted to get away from! So what the fuck's it gonna be!? I'm tired o' waitin'!"

Being uncertain of if whether he was going to die or not was a torturous experience. He almost winced remembering the way raiders treated their captives, often letting them stick around for days before getting on with cutting them to pieces.

"You're not going to move onto a cleaner life."

Smokes' heart dropped, preparing to lunge.

"You're going to stay dirty for a while."

Restraining himself, Smokes stared at the Lone Wanderer, his eyelids eventually flickering as he held both hands outward in question.

"It's raiders today," Smokes heard, watching as he waved his hand towards the water reservoir. Following the hand towards the encampment, he saw the destruction and the remaining blank stares of the dead that littered the ground, none of them in power armor. It hit him that he was the only one still alive.

"Tomorrow, it'll be _Talon Company._ Nothing can stop us."

River could see the way Smokes' eyes narrowed in response. Nevertheless, his captive turned back to him and had nothing to say.

"Got that?"

"Yes, yes, I can fuckin' see what you and your Bruddahood can do, alright?"

"You won't be safe anywhere, with _anyone_ , if you betray me."

It took a while for Smokes to understand what he was being told. Apparently, he was being hired. But for what?

"What do you want me to do?" he asked, his voice finally settling down in at least a small amount of relief.

"You're going to join Talon Company. I need you to find something out for me. If you do things right, I can _make sure_ that you can get into Rivet City or Megaton, whichever one you like, and acquire a permanent job at either of those places. _But_ you have to get me what I'm looking for."

It was Smokes' turn to be quiet for a few moments. He exhaled and placed one hand on his hip, tilting his eyes downward at the ground in thought. Working at Rivet City or Megaton sounded like an even sweeter deal now that the possibility of obtaining it was actually real.

"What are you lookin' for?"

"There's a group called L and A who I believe is responsible for most of the contracts they sign into. They're a highly secretive group so you can't just walk in and start asking about them. You'll have to be smart otherwise they'll kill you before you can get close enough to find out something of value."

"Shit . . . " Smokes answered, getting breathy again as if he had just run ten miles without a stop for rest.

"Fine."

Looking up into River's eyes again, he asked, "But you're sure you can get into Megaton or Rivet City?"

"As sure as I am about killing you if you betray me."

Smokes breathed out and grinned, "Then . . . then we got ourselves a deal. You better not be lyin . . ."

"Is that a threat?"

"Nah . . . cause if you're lyin' . . . I'm shit outta places to go back to."

Convinced that their relationship was as mutually beneficial as he needed it to be, River tilted his head, urging Smokes to walk in another direction to ensure he wouldn't be picked off by a Brotherhood soldier who was unaware of the deal he had just made.

* * *

"I can't believe you're actually going through with this."

River could see that Sarah's words mirrored the things everyone else in the group was thinking, considering most of them were monitoring the discussion one way or another. Meanwhile, Smokes was sitting on the ground a few feet away from them, a safe distance from the Brotherhood soldiers that had just slaughtered the encampment he had called home for almost a year. The cigarette that was in his lips was, by far, the most satisfying one that he had ever had.

There were many reasons to smoke, he thought. Having one after a job was done added a calming finality to the matter, and those _jobs_ could range from many different sorts of things. Finishing a steamy session with a woman he had lusted over was up there as a qualifying candidate to enjoy a cigarette. Another was returning from a raid with a good haul, mostly a celebration for the find _and_ the survival. This was different, however.

Smokes couldn't remember an occasion he thought death was more certain than today, when he was face to face with the Lone Wanderer, caught entirely by surprise. Waiting so long to find out if he was going to live or not added to the pleasure now, but he started to see that it wasn't as simple as he thought. He actually felt a pang of pride in himself because he had partially been responsible for saving his own hide for having a silver tongue. Then again, maybe it had just been made out of bronze and a microscopic speck of luck had been what pushed him over the hump, but he was here, and alive.

He ignored the Lone Wanderer and the Brotherhood bitch's conversation. The fact that he did that made him even more infuriating to look upon because he didn't seem to have a care into the world. The raider sat there smoking a cigarette as though he believed he was untouchable now.

"You've seen what raiders are like. They can't be trusted. Even if you _do_ plan on killing him after the job's done."

River answered calmly to Sarah's urging, at ease because Smokes couldn't hear any of it.

"I don't _trust_ him, I'm only aware of his motivations and what they'll lead him to do."

"What if he tells L and A we're after them? They'll get even more careful and then we might _never_ find them."

"He won't."

"How do you know that?"

"Because I have something he wants _bad._ Something L and A couldn't even give him. If there's one thing we know about raiders, they're selfish. When they want something, they'll do whatever it takes to get it. And he wants something only I can get him."

Sarah released an exasperated breath and answered, "He's just some dumb, junkie raider."

"You said you thought I was just some trashy wastelander."

Suddenly, Sarah's body slumped, as if his words deflated her instantly. Her attention shifted to him as he added.

"I told you that you were right. I _was_ a trashy wastelander, but I wasn't so bad, was I?"

"No, River, but you weren't a damn raider, were you?"

"I _could_ have been."

Again, her shoulders slumped, but this time she turned away from him and walked as he spoke one more time.

"Trust me here. You won't ever even see his face again."

River took her silence as his answer. She wasn't happy about it but he could see that she was deferring to his choice. Now came the hard part.

"I'm going to need the pip boy back, I'm afraid."

Sarah holstered the laser rifle on her back and reached for the machine strapped to her wrist, pulling at the straps until it came loose. She tossed it back to him without looking, walking away as he caught it.

Sighing, River moved towards Smokes and handed him the device. The rest of the Brotherhood contingent that was with them, which didn't suffer a single casualty in the assault, appeared to rally around Sarah to get her take. Smokes watched her shake his head and hold her hands outward in disapproval over River's left shoulder before taking the pip boy that was being held towards him, along with a sash.

"Here's a pip boy. The locations marked in red have working ham radios in them."

Next, he handed Smokes a piece of paper, which he took and read with curiosity.

"Use this frequency. I'll receive your communications on my pip boy but you need to be broadcasting from one of these locations. When you're done, never leave the dial on my frequency."

The raider was quiet as he listened, but showed that he understood his directions by offering up an occasional nod.

"Here's some water. Get yourself cleaned up. Even Talon Company is wary of raider types."

When Smokes took the pouched sash that was being offered to him, he paused to the sound of jingling.

"Four hundred caps to get you some combat armor or leather armor. Anything that doesn't single you out as a raider." Tossing something else for Smokes to catch, River continued, "A brahmin skin hoodie to hold you in the meantime. Locations marked in black are Talon Company hot spots. I recommend Fort Bannister or their base west of Grayditch."

Smokes put the pouched sash over his shoulder and answered, "Gotcha." Then, he began strapping the pip boy onto his right arm, his lips curling into a smile.

"Never woulda thought I'd get my hands on one o' these things."

River didn't answer, his eyes flickering momentarily once Smokes straightened out and just stood there.

"Oh, that's it? Alright. You'll be hearin' from me soon unless I get killed or somethin'."

Sarah watched from a distance as the raider began walking away. In response, she raised her hand and spun her index finger round and round, urging her charges to rally and get into position.

"Let's move!"

River watched them begin walking away without him and stopped in his tracks, his blood coming to a slow boil until he drew in a deep breath and released it in an attempt to relax. His shoulders shivered in response to bottling his fury, but he stepped forth with a digressive pace.

It wasn't until he was around ten feet behind the main group that Paladin Kodiak approached. Even without power armor on, he was the largest member in the whole of the Brotherhood, which was what led to his nickname.

"Knight Osage, we need you to move up. You're cramping things up for our lookouts."

Responding, River paused a moment and walked with a brisk pace to move ahead while Kodiak remained at his side. Once they were well within the group, he turned to speak again, "I'm going to need you to teach me what you did with that Chryslus fission core to turn it into a thrown mini nuke."

A mini nuke, like the gauss rifle, was one of the most destructive forms of ordnance from the old world. It was just as rare, too. It used the same principles of an atom bomb to give birth to a devastating explosion that was just the right size for use in the field.

"Everyone was quite impressed. It took out at least twenty of our contacts and threw the rest into a panic, making it easy for us to mop them up. None of our troops even reported being _grazed_ by a bullet."

"They don't strike me as an _impressed_ bunch."

Kodiak's eyebrows tightened, looking from River to the group ahead, specifically Sarah, before turning back to him.

"We don't exactly throw parties around here and drink shots when people do well in the field. Especially if the mission is still ongoing."

Kodiak's response brought a soft smirk to River's lips before he shook his head, "That's not it."

"Then what is it, if I can ask, sir?"

"Never mind."

Kodiak turned his eyes forth and watched again, but even though he was looking at Sarah again, he was mostly lost in deep rumination.

"Sir, may I ask _other_ questions?"

It began to feel odd being addressed as _sir_ but before River said anything about it he remembered that it must have been because he actually outranked Kodiak. The man was a paladin while he was a knight. In the end, it felt wrong to deny the request considering the courteous way that he asked.

"Go ahead."

Given the green light, Kodiak began decisively. First he guided River further away and into relative seclusion so that the others couldn't hear their conversation. Then, he spoke as if everything he wanted to say had been pre-assembled and was immediately available for swift distribution.

"Sir, do you consider yourself _one of us?_ "

Dusk and Glade watched, walking side by side, as the conversation between the two began to form. They couldn't hear what was being said but this was the first time they ever saw River's expression twist into something at least _dimly_ reminiscent of a sneer.

"Of course I do."

"I mean no disrespect, sir. The Brotherhood, including myself, values the contributions you've made and there isn't a single one of us in this group who wouldn't risk our lives for yours with the same intensity as we would for anyone else in our group. To move along, I bring this up because you don't exhibit the same traits as the rest of us."

"How so?"

"Earlier during the assault on the water reservoir, you chose to move in on your own path after you supplied us with the explosive. Gallows often works independently from the Lyons Pride but during direct engagements, even he doesn't operate without support."

What River heard garnered nothing but silence. He could see the logic in it, mostly because he had already analyzed himself in contrast to the Brotherhood soldiers. He preferred to work alone _unless_ he was in command, which he wasn't, and the thought of adjusting himself never felt comfortable.

"We also have friends here. The types we speak to about our problems so that we can rectify them. Since we're already using Gallows here as an example . . . hell, even _he_ has a confidante. His wife if you'll believe that. You've met Scribe Yearling, correct?"

Scribe Yearling belonged to the Order of the Quill, a sect within the Brotherhood that prioritized written works, preserving them and learning from them. River met her at a place called Arlington Library before she asked him to bring any undamaged pre-war books that he found during his travels.

"Yeah."

Kodiak nodded, "Anyway, I'm not trying to put prerequisites on membership. You don't have to meet some kind of criteria to be one of us because you already are, and not just because Sentinel Lyons appointed you Knight Osage of the Brotherhood of Steel but because you _earned_ our esteem. I'm just telling you that these amenities are available to you."

"I'll try and keep that in mind," River answered. The Paladin could see the deflective nature of the response but he wasn't going to be deterred.

"Thank you, sir. Now, may I ask what made our group look unimpressed earlier?"

River's facial expression slumped. Again, it felt wrong to deny Kodiak a response.

"She rallied the group before I could catch up . . . but now that I'm saying it out loud, it feels like the silliest thing to be angry about."

The paladin settled into a thoughtful silence, his eyes eventually becoming focused when he thought he had a grasp on the problem.

"It isn't silly. It's just unfamiliarity. All of it is."

Glancing the Paladin's way with an attentive stare, he awaited elaboration.

"You went through basic training so you know the ropes but you've never been on a formal operation with us. We've all had our disagreements with the Sentinel while out on the field. When she shuts us down and calls for the team to continue, it isn't to rub our noses in it. Once we proceed with the mission, there's nothing left to talk about and she expects us all to follow. As a team. She didn't intend for you to get left behind like that. If anything, in ordering the go-ahead she was telling _you_ to move your ass as much as the rest of us, who all have our doubts about that raider as well."

River's pace slowed as the enlightenment flooded in. It dawned on him how perceptive Kodiak was. The sheer logic with which the paladin walloped him with was something River would never resist or deny at this stage in his life.

"She wouldn't have been as nice as you, would she have?"

Paladin answered with a gruff chuckle, "No, sir. That means I just saved you from getting chewed out worse than Paladin Gunny's initiates, not that it would have been _right_. You're a special case, sir. Coming at you hard like that could push you away. You seem set in your ways enough to just say _fuck off_ and go on your own path. Regardless, you owe me some detailed schematics for my services."

"They're yours."

With a firm nod, Kodiak slanted back towards the group, drawing River towards them with a vocal cue.


	7. Chapter 7

There was something special about the final stretch when traveling to Oasis. A mile before arrival, there was a tattered highway still standing upright high in the sky. Those pieces belonging to it that had succumbed to old age lay in piles of concrete rubble underneath but it nevertheless achieved a sort of ruinous splendor that could be captivating.

Moving beyond it revealed just how much more quiet the Capital Wasteland is the higher north one travels. There, a vast network of dead trees awaited them, with branches short and decrepit like bony fingers tight and contorted with agony.

"I thought the trees were supposed to be brown and green in Oasis . . . " Paladin Glade commented.

A few of the other Brotherhood members around him turned a glance but none of them went beyond that simple gesture. Past those deceased leafless trees there was an enormous rock formation climbing into the sky and across what looked to be a large ground distance barring their path.

It wasn't until the forward scouts were visible there in the distance, standing in front of a wall belonging to that rock formation, showing that the area was clear and they were awaiting orders that River picked up the pace. He moved so that the group was eventually behind him and slanted left, eventually joined by the scouts ahead, which included the silent Knight Captain Gallows.

When they arrived at the mouth of a narrow passage that was camouflaged by the gray stones around it, everyone but River stopped a moment to note the elusive nature of the entrance before continuing along.

"If this is the only way in, it's going to be a piece of cake defending the place," Dusk commented, gauss rifle in hand as she entered the passage. It eventually became so thin that the group was forced to continue single file.

River, at this point, had ensured that he was the one who was furthest ahead. He could hear the steps of the Brotherhood soldiers in their heavy metal armor walking behind him but his walk came to a gradual halt. He turned around and glanced at Gallows, the man closest to him, who also stopped his approach. As River held his hand out, Gallows' attention and that of those behind him, followed the gesture to where it led and finally witnessed proof of Oasis.

They were looking at a flock of curious mushrooms that glowed green surrounded by verdant grass. River courteously allowed for a pause himself as Sarah caught up to Gallows, studying the same greenery that he was surveying before turning her attention to River, whose eyes reminded her of the very same vegetation she had just looked at. The resplendency of the plant life shown to them stood in vivid contrast to the drab memories of the trees they were accustomed to seeing, of which they had only recently gotten a reminder before arriving.

Gallows said nothing as more Brotherhood members stopped beside or behind him and moved along after a cursory glance. His wife respected the value of all manner of legible books but she _treasured_ the ones about plants from the old world. He wondered how she might respond if he returned to her with one of these mushrooms, a patch of grass or maybe even a flower. Such a thing might convince her to request a transfer to Oasis, he thought.

"So this is it," Sarah asked, stopping her gait a foot away from River. He answered with a gentle nod and turned around, leading the way along for another hundred feet. The deeper into the passage they walked the more greenery they saw. Grass sprouted from the ground freely like flames around the sun accompanied by more of those dainty green mushrooms. Every now and then, specks of yellow and purple sprouted from those patches, flowers that mostly resembled mature dandelions. The only difference was that the tips of their petals were purple.

Sarah, now the next person behind River just ahead of Paladin Glade, was so caught up with what she was looking at that when her attention turned straight and found River holding his hand out to signal a halt, she stopped an inch or two before his palm made contact with her chest plate.

Once she and the rest of the group stopped moving, he moved ahead again, rounded one final corner made of rock and saw the entrance to Oasis. When he first arrived it was little more than a wooden gate composed of logs tied together by sturdy rope. Now it was an iron gate supported by large iron poles sunken into the earth and held in place by cement. The wall itself that barred the path of anyone attempting to come through was clearly made up of metal taken from different sources but it nevertheless all came together to forge a formidable blockade for any unwelcome visitors.

Atop the gate there were two sturdy and armored platforms with manned gun turrets improvised from portable mini guns. On the left there was a man wearing the same garb that River wore. The hood that he wore made it difficult to see his hair shaven away but his dark brown eyes, focused gaze and sharp eyebrows were greatly visible. This one was named Branchtender Linden. On the left platform was Branchtender Maple, a woman with blue eyes who, like Linden, had come to Oasis after living a hardened life in the wasteland.

"Ah, Branchtender Osage," Linden finally eased, moving away from his position on the gun turret to stand while Maple did the same. "You returned quicker than we expected," Maple added.

Almost each time River provided a timetable for a return, he didn't meet it, arriving weeks if not months later than intended.

"The Great One says that you bring others with you, their forms covered and obscured in shells," Maple began. "Is it them? The ones of which you spoke to us?"

The firmness in Maple's voice had hardly softened since when he left. River remembered that she was one of the Branchtenders here who supported the initiative to keep Harold's gift of plant growth secluded for his own safety. Now that there was a group of very real strangers at her doorstep, the types smart and ambitious enough to cut into Harold's body with knives in search of the secrets of his mutation, she was not at peace.

The man on guard duty with her, Branchtender Linden, had spoken to her of the Brotherhood. Their original mission, dating back from their days in the western United States, had always been to secure technology from the wastes in an effort to keep humanity from destroying itself again. Elder Lyons, the leader of the Brotherhood sect here in the Capital Wasteland, decided such wasn't enough and waged war on the super mutants in an effort to protect the people from their wrath.

That move divided the Brotherhood, creating a rogue group known as the Outcasts who believed Elder Lyons' decision to put the preservation of the people of the Capital Wasteland ahead of their original mission was a traitorous notion. Branchtender Linden himself came from this rogue group, but not before spending time as a Brotherhood soldier as well.

For River, it came as a surprise when Linden supported the motion of bringing the Brotherhood to garrison at Oasis after first pointing them out as one of the more imposing threats. All things considered, Elder Lyons' committal to the protection of the Capital Wasteland made his troops the perfect choice for the preservation of Harold and his gift, just like Project Purity and its production of pure clean water. The Outcasts, who still prioritized technology over such matters, would never even waste their time here.

"Yes, the Brotherhood. They are led by Sentinel Sarah Lyons, the daughter of their elder," River answered.

The moment Sarah's name came out of his mouth he knew that it had been a spectacular idea for her to be here. If the leader's daughter was present, it would show them that the Brotherhood placed importance on Oasis.

"Sentinel Lyons, bring them up," he added aloud.

Both Linden and Maple looked beyond River to watch as a woman with golden hair and metal armor led a group of her people to their gate. For Linden, laying eyes on a group of soldiers in gray power armor evoked longing memories. It hadn't been an easy thing for him to abandon the core of the people he pledged his life to. Thinking back on it, he realized that it had been easier for him to abandon the Outcasts for Oasis than it had been to leave the Brotherhood for the Outcasts.

Sarah looked up to Linden and Maple, peering into their eyes momentarily, her amazement somewhat provoked by seeing someone other than River wearing that brown vest with tree branches protruding from it. Other than that, she was impressed with the gate that barred their path, accompanied by a duo of manned gun turrets.

Dusk stopped just behind Gallows and she heard Glade's steps bring him to a halt behind her. She also heard him take a deep breath before speaking, "That's Paladin Desmond. He deserted us for the Outcasts."

"You never forget a face, do you?" Dusk responded, her tone conveying amazement.

"Yeah, even the ugly ones stay riiiight here . . . " he tapped his helmet with his index finger a few times, not without pride.

"Since there's nothing else in there I guess that leaves more than enough room."

Glade flinched, turning his attention to her and tilting his body back in shock.

"Shh," she ordered.

"We're opening the gates," Linden announced, turning around to descend the steps. Maple followed him down and after a few moments, the iron gates began to shift, parting from one another with a low earthy growl as they slid along the dirt. Even before they fully opened, they offered a glimpse at the forest beyond, something that didn't exist anywhere else in the Capital Wasteland.

River walked ahead, signaling for Sarah to do the same, but before she went inside, she turned around to her charges and spoke, "Alright people, we've arrived at Oasis. Our mission here is to protect it from harmful outsiders. That means I want two sentries posted at the gates immediately."

Knight Captain Sledge walked up, a man whose entire features were hidden by power armor, his gait full of intent. Sarah was aware that when she left, he would be left in charge of the garrison here.

"Paladin Vasquez and Hyatt, man the gate until further instructions."

"Copy that," Vasquez responded, branching away from the group to meet up with Maple, who stayed behind while Linden and Osage lead the group ahead to meet with Tree Father Birch and Leaf Mother Laurel.

Their walk didn't stop until the forested pathway lead them to what was called the Pavilion. It contained what looked like an ornate gazebo. It was built in the shape of a decagon with the ground made up of wooden planks side by side. A network of thick logs served as columns to hold up a simplistic open roof that wouldn't keep rain out when it came, and at the farthest side of the structure, a wooden chair awaited them with vine clutches protruding from it and climbing up towards the roof of the gazebo.

The way Tree Father Birch sat there, a Caucasian man who likely shared a close age with Elder Lyons, made it quite clear that the seat was some form of authoritative symbol. An old African American woman stood beside him and her position seemed to convey that her place here approximated a matriarchal position.

For now, only River knew that even though Leaf Mother Laurel didn't sit on that chair, her influence was equal to the Tree Father's.

"Branchtender Osage, you have returned, and I see you've brought your allies," the Tree Father greeted.

"This is Sentinel Lyons," River assured, turning to his side and reaching out, placing a hand on her lower back to usher her forth.

"She is the daughter of Elder Lyons, leader of the Brotherhood."

Tree Father shifted in his seat and glanced up towards Sarah as she stepped forth.

"I am Tree Father Birch, and this is my wife, Leaf Mother Laurel. As friends and companions of Branchtender Osage, we welcome you to our home."

Sarah bowed her head, "Thank you. Knight Osage, as _we_ know him, tells us that Oasis is in need of protection."

"Yes. The Great One's gift, at the behest of the Leaf Mother and Branchtender Osage, will spread more quickly than anticipated. That means that soon Oasis may become common knowledge and we fear that it may attract the wrong type of attention. We've already learned that Talon Company is on the hunt, and that they are exactly _that_ , a threat to the _Great One."_

"With us here, they won't be."

"I hope that you are right."

River was glad to see that Tree Father Birch didn't allow his reservations to show. He had been the strongest force behind the effort to stunt Harold's growth to avoid attracting the wrong company. There was even a time he believed the Brotherhood was the greatest of all threats as per Branchtender Linden's earliest counsel.

When the Brotherhood took interest in a place or a thing they would snatch it from the hands of its former inhabitants or owners. His stance on Harold's incited rapid growth eased when he found that even before his influence spread to a more noticeable degree, Talon Company took interest, meaning that stunting the Great One's growth would have been meaningless in the end.

Regardless, it had been difficult to convince him to allow the Brotherhood's involvement. Their protection of project purity, a structure that was providing the Capital Wasteland with life the same way Harold did served to tip the scales in River's favor, resulting in Sarah's presence even if with some resulting tension.

"Branchtender Osage counseled me that upon arrival, you would be expecting to meet with the Great One. Before you can, you must go through the Ceremony of Purification."

In response, Sarah turned a glance over her shoulder having already heard the sound of someone's approach. Naturally, it was Scribe Townsend, his face stoic and focused. He stopped by Sarah's side and spoke as the Sentinel shifted her attention back to the Tree Father, "I would like to receive a sample of the sap Sentinel Lyons will have to ingest before meeting with the Great one."

"For what purpose?"

"I understand that Knight Osage emerged from that experience unharmed but it's possible the Sentinel might suffer an allergic reaction of some kind."

The same way Scribe Townsend emerged from the Brotherhood crowd when it was his time, an old Caucasian woman known as Bloomseer Poplar appeared when it was her time to do so.

"I am Bloomseer Poplar, the creator of the sap. We've never witnessed an allergic reaction to it but we have seen it happen in response to other substances. I studied as a botanist under my father and read many books in my time, and I've come to learn about the plant life here in Oasis, which is exclusive to it. I have tinctures and poultices that can be used as potent antihistamines. Even shots that would combat anaphylactic shock."

As she spoke, she approached a curious basin standing upright just in front of Sarah, full of some clear liquid that the botanist scooped up onto a small wooden bowl.

"Just so you know that we are prepared for the worst. Here, this should be enough for a patch test."

Scribe Townsend angled his eyes downward and took the glass before turning around, offering his commanding officer a raised eyebrow expression, indicating that he was impressed. Sarah waited silently and didn't move until the Scribe asked her to loosen the armor plating on one of her arms.

When he returned, it was with a small prick in his hand, the tip only minimally tinged by the sap, which he then used to poke her arm firmly enough to break the skin without much pain at all.

"We'll wait a half hour. If there's no allergic reaction on the skin, you'll be safe."

After disposing of the prick, he turned his attention to Bloomseer Poplar, "What effect does the sap have on the body?"

"Pupil dilation. Colors become more vibrant and so do sounds. You can hear the world, and perhaps yourself, better than you ever had before. This all shortly before it sweeps you off into a deep, dreamless slumber."

"If I can ask, what is the purpose of it?"

"We view it as the purification of evil, _you_ as an antibiotic . . . and a psychedelic."

Paladin Glade released an amused huff underneath his helmet and whispered, "Aaaand they've flown way off the handle . . . "

"Can we bypass the loss of consciousness somehow?" Townsend continued.

"No, it is an intended effect of drinking the sap. We believe that a mind is least clouded shortly after the moments of one's awakening, as it has had the time to process all that it has learned during its rest and may face the continuing road with the clearest of states."

With the answer firmly in hand, the scribe turned and looked to Sarah for her reaction but found nothing more than a stare. From the look of her eyes, he gathered that she was merely determined and didn't intend to waste time assessing the primitive customs of these Treeminders longer than she already had.

By the time he stepped off, Sarah had approached River, her afflicted arm held up where he could see it. He glanced down to it and then to her, and watched her lips open to speak, "What happens after I drink the sap, exactly?"

River answered silently, "You fall asleep and when you awaken, you'll be in the grove. I'll be there as well, and you will meet with Harold."

"You're the only one of them who calls him Harold."

The statement brought River's thoughts to a slow stir. It begged an answer.

"Doesn't mean I think he's undeserving of his _other_ namesakes."

After responding, he looked around, his eyes shifting from tree to tree, branch to branch, eventually seeing enough to bring a curious smile to his lips.

"What are you smiling about?" Sarah asked disdainfully.

"We couldn't have picked a better time for you to meet him."

* * *

When Sarah awoke, she was no longer wearing her power armor. It was deemed that should she suffer any complications, the armor would impede on the ability to treat her. Because she was out of her shell, she could feel the individual strands of grass against her bare hands and reaching for her throat, tickling the flesh. Her hands pressed against the ground, the cool grass between her fingers, and pushed herself up.

As her eyesight returned to her, so did memories of what had happened. The Ceremony of Purification was over and she was in . . . "The grove . . . " she groaned, standing up fully and slumping before glancing around. She saw more of the same trees that she had seen earlier, their branches covered in lush green leaves, but nothing _different_. That was, at least, until she spotted one tree in the center, far from the rest.

Its bark wasn't of a potent brown coloration but instead a faded green, similar to the skin tones of the super mutants she had seen in the waste land, and its branches weren't full of leaves. Instead, they were packed with what looked like green pods in the shape of flattened bananas. She carried herself around its girth to get a look at the whole thing and as she did, she came upon a sight that momentarily revolted her.

She saw one enormous eye nestled underneath the bark and though it was a startling image, there was something quite beautiful about the golden coloration of the iris. Beneath that was its mouth, and this was decidedly more grotesque than the creature's peculiar eye coloration. It looked as though the upper lip had been peeled up towards the beginning of his nostrils, the pink of the gums exposed to the air before leading the eyes down to its ugly, yellow teeth. It was a _man . . ._ cocooned in a tree.

Its face was formidably frightening on its own but her disgust subsided when she looked further down and found an almost humanoid shape. One arm had extended into the ground, sprouting deep roots. The other arm had snaked over his abdomen and frozen in place, making him appear as though he was stuck perpetually hugging himself for comfort.

"You're . . . awake," Harold said, his voice strained as if it was exhausting to speak. "They made you go through that stupid ceremony, too, huh? . . . They did the same to River . . . "

Sarah's body never even stiffened as she watched in amazement. Harold returned the notion, sans the awe, the whole time and wasn't bewildered like her until she responded to him in a way none of the other visitors ever had. She approached him and held her hand out, placing it on what used to be his left shoulder and rubbed. While she deduced that his skin was as solid as tree bark, he shivered, his eye shifting elsewhere before returning to her.

"Have they . . . ever tried to _cure_ you?"

The question caused Harold's body to shudder even more violently than when she touched him. The thought of being relieved of his sentence that meant remaining rooted to the ground indefinitely summoned an almost feral excitement from within him that made his voice sound even more strained than when he first spoke.

"N- . . . _Noooo_. . . "

His lid shut over his one remaining eye and continued.

"They think me . . . bein' a _tree_ rooted to this damn _ground_ makes me . . . a _god_. Why . . . would they?"

Sarah's heart sunk when she watched his branches rattle relentlessly as if he was trying to rip himself out from the ground and walk the earth, only to fail miserably and collapse into an almost inanimate state again. The most that he achieved was to dislodge some of those curious pods, which fell to the ground and sat there, now unmoving.

"Not that it's possible . . . Bob's gone and . . . pushed my insides around all over the place . . . I don't think you can just . . . grab 'em and stuff 'em back inside anymore . . . "

Witnessing Harold's despair drew pity from her, a pity that she deplored, one that had come only a few times during her career in the Brotherhood but powerful enough never to forget. She first felt it when she looked upon a sickly starved child in the wastes that died when she tried to carry her from her demise, so malnourished that she couldn't even survive being taken to a doctor.

"I'm sorry. If there's anything that I can do to help . . . I'll find it."

She could see the way Harold settled back into his fate. There was a melancholy shift of his head as he answered, "Ohhh . . . well . . . I guess there _is_ a way you can help that I already . . . know of."

The way she looked up to him waiting for a response urged him to continue.

"Just _talk_ to me . . . don't leave me here so damn long without _somethin_ ' to do. River promised your people weren't gonna be like them . . . _Treeminders_. . . and you'd talk to me alllll normal like . . ."

Sarah placed her hand on Harold's shoulder again, only this time it wasn't an inquisitive gesture, it was supportive.

"Knight Captain Sledge will be in charge of the Brotherhood garrison here in Oasis once I'm gone. I'll make sure he places importance on keeping you occupied _somehow._ Maybe read you some pre-war books, tell some jokes . . . play you some music. Now and then some old fashioned company in general . . . sound good?"

The prospect excited Harold but something else altogether was what showed. His eye widened before he groaned loudly, "Ohhhhh . . . eugh . . . _nooo_. . . not _now_ of all times . . . "

"What's wrong?"

"Oh . . . _nothin'_. . . it's just . . . _Bob's_ getting' ready to . . . burst. It's a lil . . . embarassin'. . . "

A cracking sound ensued, not unlike what one heard when snapping a branch in two.

The wind blew ferociously against them and when she looked up, she watched as the pods resting on Harold's branches opened slowly and cautiously like clams. Another gust of wind swept the seeds inside up into the sky, pretty little things that glowed green, similar to the mushrooms she had seen on her way into Oasis.

"Damn it . . . _Bob_. . . not in front of the _pretty lady_. . . "

Sarah's eyed widened, awestruck, and turned to watch as the seeds swirled about in the air before being lifted higher and higher, further and further. Harold's dialogue coaxed a giggle.

"It's beautiful."

"Ya think so? . . . Well . . . Bob's been doin' it much more since River applied that . . . _liniment_. . . "

"So that's how you spread."

In the distance, River sat atop a thick tree branch, paying mind to the expression on Sarah's face. Inhaling deep, he settled into his seat comfortably and laid the back of his head against the trunk of the tree he had climbed atop of, enjoying the emerald-lit scene unfolding as well while she sub consciously spun around like a little girl lost in a vibrant garden of flowers.

* * *

 **Author's Notes** : Thanks a lot for the favorites, follows and reviews, folks! Those reviews let me know that some of the things I intended to pop up in the reader's heads are indeed popping up as the story progresses. For example, Harold's importance to the wasteland, I felt, was underplayed in the game but then again, I suppose they sort of excused it by saying it would take decades for his influence to really make a difference outside. What's interesting about this is that in the Fallout 4 trailer ( IT'S REAL PEOPLE ) I saw some actual greenery. I wonder if Harold will be mentioned to have had something to do with that. After all, Fallout 4 will likely take place after the Lone Wanderer disappeared from the Capital Wasteland in the Fallout Timeline, which was two decades after the events of Fallout 3, presumably enough time for Harold to start making his changes. Really pulling for that possibility here. Anyway, I hope this chapter delights. Happy reading!


	8. Chapter 8

Standing there, staring at the large dead settlement called Fort Bannister, Smokes wondered what had gone wrong. Unless the piece of junk the Lone Wanderer had given him was on the fritz, this was the right place. There were no mercenaries here, just silence, dirt, concrete and metal worn by age.

With a huff, he stepped past the outer gates, figuring that if he couldn't join Talon Company here then he could at least snatch some shelter for the night. The walls of the fort looked sturdy enough to offer the right kind of protection. Certainly better than the damn reservoir upon which the Brotherhood took a giant shit without any resistance, never mind the raiders living in it.

In his hand, he held a ten millimeter pistol. The weapon felt vastly unimpressive governed by his left hand as he walked towards what could be crawling with security systems but on the other hand, it was the most functional gun he had ever gotten a hold of. Loading a clip into it was a smooth motion, the same being said of the slide that loaded a bullet into the chamber. All this courtesy of the Lone Wanderer, of course, but would it really have been such a big deal for him to part with that modified laser rifle of his considering he had almost twenty buddies with him in _power armor_?

Probably not. . .

In the distance, he saw the main entrance to Fort Bannister. The door was wide open, almost completely against the wall outside and he could peer into the darkness within. He was able to make out some vague shapes beyond the doorway but that was it, and it appeared quiet. For once, the hairs on the back of his neck weren't standing as he made his way towards an establishment that he knew nothing about.

Getting closer, he spotted something on the ground. It was a bullet case for a 5.56 millimeter bullet, but it was the only one there, meaning whoever fired it may have been performing a test shot. Waste of a bullet, he thought, but this seemed to ascertain that this place had indeed not been empty for very long.

Something moved in his periphery while he was looking at the bullet casing. His shoulders twitched and before he could point the barrel of his pistol at the shadow, a laser rifle was already trained on him and he had no choice but to freeze.

"Agh . . . _shit_ . . . " Smokes cursed, keeping the pistol away from the other individual. _Looks like Bruddahood . . ._ he thought. It was Knight Artemis, having come through the entrance into the fort while Smokes was distracted. He let the pistol hang from his index finger and held the other hand in the air to signal his surrender.

"If you seek shelter here, wastelander, turn back. This place is under the control of the Brotherhood now."

"No problem, Mistah Bruddahood . . . I'll get right outta your hair."

Again, something moved in Smokes' peripheral vision. His pupils shifted towards his left to watch as the door that had been wide open on his approach swung to a close, revealing someone had been behind it all along. Knight Artemis' eyes flickered and narrowed when he saw the wastelander's attention angle somewhere behind him. When he turned, it was with a motion swift and fluid as water, deadly and formidable. He even strafed to make himself a moving target immediately.

Yet . . . before he finished turning, the sound of a plasma rifle firing a superheated green bolt cut him short. Artemis growled wildly when three plasma bolts struck his laser rifle and melted it down in an instant. The immense heat that was injected into his weapon would have caused immediate burns on his hands if it weren't for the recon armor, but he wasn't spared the small explosion the laser rifle burst into.

The plasma weapon's high temperatures made contact with the microfusion cell that powered the rifle, resulting in a violent instability that caused an explosion, burning Artemis' chin, lips and nostrils.

When the flash subsided, Smokes opened his eyes and saw a tall man with black hair and a dark empty gaze in Talon Company armor. Caliper made sure to keep the Brotherhood soldier between himself and the wastelander.

"If you do not want a part of this, wastelander, drop your weapon," the mercenary ordered.

It took Smokes a moment to assess what was happening. A part of him made him wonder if whether he was supposed to help the Brotherhood scout due to his affiliation to the Lone Wanderer or not. He concluded that his task would be a failure if he did and subsequently dropped the pistol to the ground, removing himself from the conflict.

That left Caliper free to train the multiplas rifle on the Brotherhood scout, approaching sharply while addressing him at the same time, "What is the Brotherhood's interest in this place?"

Artemis grunted, holding his hand to the burns on his mouth, barely managing to open his eyes as the sharp pain ate away at his injury. Speaking was an even more difficult thing to do through a pair of cracked, black lips, "This assault on a Brotherhood soldier will not be tolerated. If you do not cease and desist now, my brothers will descend on you and your people without mercy."

Caliper's response was swift, "If you value your life you will answer the question I just asked you."

The Brotherhood scout pressed his lips together, his eyes moving to meet with Caliper's, and his silence said it all. He wouldn't answer.

Caliper pulled the trigger on his weapon, jettisoning three separate plasma bolts from his weapon directly into Artemis' face. The outer skin burned and disintegrated almost instantly but the melting of his eye sockets and jaw was more gradual. It happened slowly enough to offer a glimpse of the gray matter previously cradled by his skull until less than half of his head was left, vapor rising from the wound only momentarily. There was no blood, as the wound had been simultaneously inflicted and cauterized.

Smokes watched with amazement, holding his hand up to his mouth at the gruesome injury before looking to the Talon mercenary, who lowered his weapon and looked straight at him. When he turned to stare at the dead Brotherhood soldier again, it looked as though he was aghast at the grotesque remains but it had much more to do with uncertainty. Did he do the right thing not helping the poor bastard?

"What is your business here, wastelander?"

Being spoken to immediately yanked him from his thoughts. Intent on keeping his face, Smokes answered with haste, "I heard Talon Company was here at the fort."

"That accent. Are you a raider?"

 _So much for camouflage . . ._ Smokes thought.

Smokes' clothes, now much different from what he wore while he was a raider, distinguished him as more a traveler than the type of man out to take from others by force.

This time, his answer was less swift, allowing for time to think. There was something painfully lethal about this Talon Company mercenary that made Smokes absolutely terrified to lie to. It was as if he saw more than just his face with his eyes and heard more than his words with those ears.

" _Was_ a raider . . . Came here to join up with Talon Company. I got tired of hangin' around wit' a buncha retards. I don't mind doin' dirty work so long as there's a damn plan other than shootin' up with psycho and runnin' after 'em."

By then, there was sweat gleaming on Smokes' forehead that hadn't been there before Caliper showed up. Fortunately, the disdain with which he addressed his fellow raiders was genuine.

"I see. Come with me."

Caliper turned and began walking away. Smokes briefly considered shooting him in the back of the head when he wasn't looking as he picked his pistol back up. Again, the reason he decided against it was that doing so could derail his task, even if Talon Company never even found out he had done it. At the very least, he committed the man's face to memory.

They walked for _hours_ and the mercenary never made a single effort to maintain a conversation. He answered questions if asked and didn't pose any of his own. At first, the silence had been frustrating.

 _How in the hell am I supposed to find anythin' out this way?_

It took a long time but it eventually dawned on him. That silence and the lack of interest in conversation could be a part of the answers he sought. By then, he had found the time to notice that unlike other Talon Company mercenaries, Caliper, having already revealed his name at least, worked by himself. In some ways, Smokes was beginning to see a little of himself in the mercenary.

The likeness wasn't in terms of personality but in _situation_. It wasn't entirely impossible that he worked alone because he wasn't fond of the methods and attitudes of the other mercenaries. Caliper also appeared to have a drive that was quite focused and fearless. He didn't hesitate when he engaged the Brotherhood sap from earlier and the same could be said of when he executed him.

The question he posed, immediately asking for a reason to be there, was also quite thought provoking. As far as Smokes knew, Talon Company mercenaries followed contracts, and he doubted Caliper was carrying one that tasked him with finding stuff out about the Brotherhood.

"Where are we goin' anyway?"

"A Talon Company camp. I will pass it on my way to another destination, leaving you there to embark on your first contract."

Smokes walked a few more paces but stopped.

"Now wait a sec."

Caliper turned around, "Can't you talk as you walk, wastelander?"

"Name's Smokes. And . . . fine, sure, I guess I can . . . "

The mercenary began walking again, "Proceed."

 _What the hell is this guy, a fuckin' securitron?_

Derisive thoughts aside, Smokes began, "I know it'll probably be hard to believe this considerin' I've been a raider, but I ain't stupid. I'm smart and I got _ambition_ 'cause of it."

"Good. To be a mercenary of Talon Company, you'll need that ambition."

"Naw, you see, I got an _eye_ forthings, too, and I think I see somethin' _better_ to do."

"If you mean collecting a bounty on me, I assure you that you've begun to go blind."

"Nah that ain't it. All I'm sayin' is that you ain't no typical Talon Company merc. You workin' by yourself . . . probably because you don't want no other _shit heads_ gettin' in the way. I know what that's like. Been there, done that. Your work takes more finesse . . . A little more _mind_ to go along with the _hurt_. . . Am I right?"

Caliper stayed quiet, but listened.

"That's _just_ the type of work I'd be good for, too, ya see. Now I won't lie to you and say that this ain't also about lookin' for a safer job but I don't think there ain't nothin' wrong with that considerin' that on the other side of the coin, you got some Talon Company mercs flingin' 'emselves at super mutants like flies chasin' the light. I think I got too much potential for that sorta thing."

When Caliper stopped, the muscles in Smokes' face tightened up. His whole body tensed and he stopped walking as well, watching with extreme apprehension as the tall man turned around to face him.

"If you really believe everything you're saying, then I have a task for you. If you complete it for me, I will take it as _proof_ of your intelligence. Do you accept?"

 _Suddenly I'm everyone's fuckin' errand boy_ , Smokes thought.

"Yeah, I accept. What's the job?"

"In Rivet City, there is a man from what he calls the _Commonwealth_ searching for a runaway android. I want you to get him to come outside, go further north."

"What's his name?"

"Zimmer."

"Where, exactly, do ya want me to bring 'im?"

"Figure out a way to get him to come to Paradise Falls. Escort him there. Do you know where that is?"

After posing the question, Caliper's eyes flickered down to the pip boy on Smokes' arm and back to his eyes, not necessarily because he had only just noticed it. In fact, it was one of the first things he saw about Smokes that stood out.

"Never been but I've had it marked on my pip boy by someone."

"Good. This is where we part ways."

Smokes stood there quietly after Caliper turned in another direction, his shoulders swaying with purpose.

* * *

The Capital Wasteland was a wide and varied place. It had many different sorts of locations, including large settlements to which people flocked in search of security and work. Megaton was a prime example. It had walls constructed of metal stripped from airplane carcasses all around and also had enough of an economy to sustain a network of guards to protect it, making it an enticing place to live within a dangerous wasteland.

Adversely, there were also people who found more security in loneliness. Living off the land and bearing no responsibilities to anyone other than themselves had a way of simplifying things. No supplies had to be shared and one's mistakes were their own. Those who could withstand being alone for long periods of time without going insane could _thrive_ under such conditions.

A few miles southwest of Oasis there was a ruined chapel. The roof on the rearmost side of the structure was collapsed and the wooden planks from which it was built were almost yellow. The degraded paint job offers a vague glimpse at the former beauty it once possessed. Beside it, there are tombstones marking the graves of people long lost to the world and it is surrounded by an equally withered white picket fence.

Gossamer tidings carried from one end of the Capital Wasteland to the other had reached Caliper's ears that there was a survivalist living here. He lived alone and took what he needed from the surrounding wilderness. Before the bombs dropped, such a saying would have indicated a person survived from wild animals and plant life, but in the wasteland, wayward travelers and scavengers had become very much a part of that.

He was told that the survivalist used a sniper rifle, hunting prey from afar. Suffice to say, he was dangerous and caution should be exercised in the area but what garnered Caliper the most was that he had been given a description. Someone had either gotten close enough or spotted him while he wasn't in his sniper's nest in the tower of the chapel. He wore a brown pointed hood . . . like the fabled Lone Wanderer, believed to be a vessel of Oasis.

Caliper was well aware that the possibility of a connection between the two was a vast leap of faith. The only reason he forged ahead was that he had learned a thing or two about luck. Fortune wasn't always a passive thing, present indefinitely. Sometimes it was never there unless it was evoked. It could be _manufactured_ and _tempered._

A hunter would never encounter rare prey unless he _hunted_ and the chances of locating the quarry could be heightened by looking where intelligence _suggested_ it may be found. After a while, if the traces became scarce enough, even the most dubious clues are used.

This reservist could have the answer Caliper was looking for or he may not, but the chance that he _did_ have it would never be expended unless he was ventured upon. The only matter of concern was the approach. A stealth boy, a camouflaging device that rendered the user almost completely invisible, would have been ideal but those were far too rare. If he invested time into finding the device, the isolationist could be dead by the time he returned.

Another option had been to bring a squad of mercenaries to create a distraction but he didn't want to risk the possibility of losing his target to someone's overzealous gunfire. With a reward like _this_ in view, he trusted none other than himself, so he came alone and _watched._

The tower of the chapel was facing an area that was thoroughly littered with cover. There were rocks, the land was uneven and there were even two cars from the old world in place. The other side was more open, and all of this offered insight as to the machinations of the reservist. He expected attackers to approach from the direction that offered them the most cover from his gunfire, but that didn't mean he didn't keep a sharp eye on the more open ground behind him to spot the occasional anomaly or the _tactician_ who figured that route would be unexpected.

Lowering his binoculars, Caliper's eyes stared a sharp line into the distance, forming a plan. Turning away, he moved, drawing the multiplas rifle from a holster on his back and into his hands.

It had been seven months since Knox, the inhabitant of the chapel, began living there. Most people would likely have looked at his isolationism as a chosen lifestyle, never imagining that this was forced upon him.

He had a family once, one that he protected fiercely. Perhaps too fiercely and now he was alone. Not because it was easier or less stressful but because he knew that the only way to avoid this pain again was to stay away from people altogether. No, it would take more than that. To succeed, not only would he have to do that, but he would also have to _devalue_ them, think of them as _meat_ like the other wild animals he devoured on occasion.

Knox wasn't a cannibal but the wastelanders that he killed often carried supplies that aided him in his effort to survive. He was an African American man in his late thirties, face smudged with dirt and one eye covered by an eye patch, telling wordless tales of the hardships he had endured before arriving where he was now.

In front of him was a piece of meat that he had roasted over a fire. He bit chunks from it with a calm rhythm, indicating that he wasn't starved, and paid mind to nothing other than the taste. Though it wasn't seasoned or flavored in any other way, it was a thoroughly satisfying meal. All around him was the sound of the wasteland. The wind blew and the shoddy structure in which he lived creaked in protest but never crumbled.

The fact that the chapel endured the wind became a surprise when a painfully loud explosion rattled it, causing it to sway and shed pieces of wood like dogs drop layers of their fur. For a moment, Knox _expected_ for the wooden surface underneath him to give way, causing him to come falling to the ground, but when it didn't, he whipped towards his sniper rifle and sprung up onto his feet.

His heart was pounding wildly as if it was trying to rip its way out, his throat sore from the way the thunderous sound rattled in his chest. The ringing in his ears was still prevalent but he was glad that the flash that shone brightly against the chapel didn't blind him. When he peered out through the window, he quickly made sense of what had happened.

The two vehicles that had been sitting dormant there were on fire, releasing thick gray smoke into the air that obscured the path beyond them. Someone had made them explode and he couldn't tell how. Now if there was someone approaching from that direction, he wouldn't be able to see them until they were dangerously close.

Knox narrowed his eyes and twisted around, moving to take a look in every direction around the chapel to see if the explosions were a distraction. When he saw absolutely nothing, he whipped around again and aimed his rifle into the thick smoke, lips curling into a sneer. His instincts ran wild. Each second that went by in a slow crawl told him that there was assuredly someone _there_ hidden behind the explosion.

Turning to the side, he grabbed for a frag grenade and, without remorse, pulled the pin before tossing it behind the smoke. After a few seconds, it went off, sending shrapnel in every direction. He didn't hear a scream and when he looked again, he saw that it had done nothing other than send the smoke into a furious spin, wider now.

Then he heard a high pitched blast somewhere behind him. Plasma bolts were slow enough that he had enough time to turn around before it found its mark. He saw that the shot wasn't fired at him but the ground beneath him. The plasma sunk into the wood and disintegrated it with a vicious hiss, causing it to come crumbling down with him on top of it.

Knox landed on his feet with a thud and fell into an unceremonious roll, his rifle slipping from his hands. As he began to stand up again a pair of vascular hands grabbed hold of his collar and yanked him aside, slamming his back against a wall. The decrepit wood cracked in response to the force, and he now found himself staring into the dark eyes of a man dressed in Talon Company armor.

Before he could reach for his combat knife, he felt the other man's skull smacking against his, sending his consciousness into a swirl. He wasn't able to tell exactly what happened after that but he knew that it put him on the ground face down, a knee firmly against his back and his own knife at his throat.

Grunting in protest, he squeezed his eyes tightly, attempting to regain himself, but he couldn't move. Why wasn't he dead already? Why was he under assault from Talon Company? He had seen them travel into his area before but he never opened fire, aware that attracting the attention of a large mercenary group like that could only result in disaster.

"Do you know where I can find Oasis?"

Knox's one good eye widened momentarily.

"Are you from there?"

Caliper pressed the knife against Knox's throat with a little more pressure, causing the blade to cut into the skin but only slightly. Momentarily, there was nothing but silence.

"If you don't speak, you _will_ perish here."

Knox closed his eyes tightly again, this time in physical discomfort. It had been a while since he felt a ferocious love like this. He had only ever experienced it during his time with the Treeminders, thinking about all the threats that Tree Father Birch claimed that loomed over the _Great One_ while he fantasized over protecting _him_ from them.

With a sudden and unexpected twist, Knox jerked his head to the side, dragging his throat along the sharp edge of the blade, severing his own jugular artery in an effort to keep the location of Oasis from his assailant and to avoid a torturous death at his hands.

Letting go of the knife and the isolationist, Caliper straightened up and watched as he choked on his own blood. The dark red fluid spilled onto the ground and expanded into a puddle that seeped into the wood. Knox, at first, died without much of a panic but when death came ever closer and he could feel it claiming his eyesight, the process turned into a struggle.

He reached for his neck, pressing his hands against the gaping wound as if he could plug the flow of blood. His legs slid along the ground, _fighting_ death with ugly desperation and the second his body finally went limp, he felt something slip from a pouch on his thigh.

Knox faded away attempting to reach the holotape before the mercenary could see it, to no avail. Caliper lowered towards the ground and onto his knee, taking the square device into his hand. Holotapes were recording devices that could be used to preserve images, sounds and text, either together or independently. Calmly, he flicked a red switch, activating the device. A hologram composed of green light manifested above its frontal side.

It offered him a mysterious longitude latitude, and he knew what he had just found.

* * *

 **Author's Note** : War definitely never changes, huh. Thanks for the follows, faves and reviews everyone. I have some crazy surprises in store that I really can't wait to bring out to the light in this story.


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